BERKELEY 

GENERAL 
LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY    OF 
CALIFORNIA 


er 


In  Quiet  Waters 


REMINISCENT  TALES 
OF  A  HUMBLE  ANGLER 


BY 

DR.  FRANK  MACKIE  JOHNSON 

INTRODUCTION  BY 

DR.  JAMES  A.  HENSHALL 

Author  of  the  "Book  of  the  Black  Bass,"  etc. 


CINCINNATI 

STEWART  KIDD  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
STEWART  KIDD  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 
COPYRIGHT  IN  ENGLAND 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INTRODUCTION 5 

PREFACE 1 1 

A  STRING  OF  SUNFISH 13 

TAIL  FIRST 15 

PLANKING  POACHERS 21 

A  DAY  OF  DAZE 29 

PIONEERS  OF  THE  FOREST 37 

A  NOVEL  LURE 43 

WHITE  PERCH  DE  LUXE 49 

WHERE  CHASMS  FROWN 54 

FROLICS  OF  THE  SILVER  KINGS 63 

SULKING  SAMSONS 68 

THE  TOGUE'S  REMARKS 73 

ARTFUL  ANTAGONISTS  75 

A  WISH  AS  TWILIGHT  FALLS 82 

WHEN  STORMS  RAGED 85 

ABOVE  AND  BELOW 90 

SURPRISES 95 

AN  INDIAN  LEGEND 102 

THE  CLOSE  OF  DAY    108 

M839003 


INTRODUCTION 

Fishes  are  the  oldest  of  the  vertebrate 
animals,  the  first  to  be  evolved  in  the  scheme 
of  creation;  and  Angling  is  as  old  as  the 
eternal  hills.  The  fish-hook  is  mentioned  in 
several  books  of  the  Old  Testament,  and 
fish-hooks  of  bone,  shell,  stone,  and  bronze 
are  found  in  the  deposits  of  prehistoric  ages. 

The  first  book  on  Angling  was  written  by 
an  English  woman  of  noble  birth,  Dame 
Juliana  Berners,  whose  father  was  beheaded 
in  1388.  She  was  Prioress  of  Sopwell  Nun- 
nery, near  St.  Albans,  England.  She  was 
author  of  treatises  on  Hunting,  Hawking, 
and  Angling.  The  latter  treatise  was  en- 
titled "Fisshynge  With  An  Angle/'  and  was 
printed,  a  folio  edition,  in  London,  in  1496. 
This,  it  will  be  remembered,  is  more  than 
four  hundred  years  ago,  and  a  dozen  genera- 
tions of  Anglers  have  since  risen  up  to  call 
her  blessed. 

In  her  treatise  on  Angling  she  gave  ex- 
plicit directions  for  making  rods,  lines,  hooks, 
sinkers,  and  floats,  and  gave  the  formulas 

5 


INTRODUCTION 

and  dressings,  and  named  the  materials  for 
the  construction  of  twelve  artificial  flies, 
imitations  of  natural  insects  that  frequented 
the  streams  during  the  summer  months,  to 
be  used  for  trout  and  grayling.  These  flies, 
with  slight  modifications,  are  in  use  to-day, 
and  some  of  them,  doubtless,  were  em- 
ployed by  the  "Humble  Angler"  when  on 
some  of  his  outings,  as  recounted  in  his 
"Reminiscent  Tales." 

The  next  book  on  Angling  to  appear  was 
the  "Booke  of  Fishing  With  Hooke  and 
Line,"  by  Leonard  Mascall,  4to,  London, 
1600.  Next  in  chronological  sequence  was 
the  "Art  of  Angling,"  by  Thomas  Barker, 
I2mo,  London,  1651.  Neither  of  these  books 
survived  beyond  one  or  two  editions.  Then 
came  the  "Compleat  Angler"  or  the  "Con- 
templative Man's  Recreation,"  by  Izaak 
Walton,  London,  1653,  which  has  become 
the  classic  of  angling  literature. 

There  have  been  more  than  a  hundred  edi- 
tions of  the  "Compleat  Angler,"  edited,  an- 
notated, and  published  by  various  persons 
since  Walton's  time.  And  likewise  there 
have  been  books  and  books  on  Angling,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent,  published  on  both  sides 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  all  of  them  have  been 
6 


INTRODUCTION 

modeled,  more  or  less,  on  "Fisshynge  With 
An  Angle"  or  the  "Compleat  Angler." 

The  most  superb  work  on  Angling  ever 
issued  from  the  press  is  "Forest,  Lake,  and 
River,"  treating  of  the  fishes  of  "New  Eng- 
land and  Eastern  Canada."  This  sumptu- 
ous work  is  in  two  royal  octavo,  de  luxe 
volumes,  bound  in  embossed  vellum  and 
satin,  with  nearly  a  hundred  full-page  col- 
ored plates  and  black  and  white  illustra- 
tions, and  with  a  portfolio  of  twelve  life- 
size  game-fishes,  two  by  three  feet,  repro- 
duced from  oil  paintings  by  A.  D.  Turner. 
This  unique  and  remarkable  work  is  by 
Frank  Mackie  Johnson,  M.D.,  the  author  of 
these  unpretentious  "Reminiscent  Tales." 

While  Dr.  Johnson's  recherche  volumes 
are  suitable  only  for  the  angler's  bookcase 
or  his  library  table,  his  modest  book  of  fish- 
ing sketches  is  intended  more  for  the  pocket 
of  his  fishing  jacket,  to  be  read  and  browsed 
over,  while  smoking  his  post-prandial  pipe, 
after  the  mid-day  luncheon  on  the  bank  of 
the  stream;  or  when  in  his  den  on  a  winter 
night,  in  slippered  feet,  to  follow  the  "Humble 
Angler"  in  his  wanderings  by  lake  and  stream 
in  search  of  sport  and  adventure. 

The  dominant  note  in  this  symphony  of 

7 


INTRODUCTION 

the  woods  and  waters  is  the  love  and  lure 
of  Angling,  pure  and  simple,  and  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  spirit  of  true  sportsman- 
ship with  all  that  it  implies.  We  follow  the 
"Humble  Angler"  from  the  rock-bound 
waters  of  Newfoundland  to  the  sunny 
lagoon  of  Florida;  from  sunrise  on  the  At- 
lantic to  sunset  on  the  Pacific;  from  tide- 
water to  mountain  pool.  With  the  warp  of 
angling  he  weaves  the  woof  of  personal  ad- 
venture and  the  weft  of  encounters  with 
pioneers,  Indians,  smugglers,  and  outlaws. 

We  sit  in  a  dory  with  him  on  an  estuary 
of  the  New  England  coast  fishing  for  the 
sturdy  pollack  or  the  gamesome  white  perch, 
while  the  snowy  wings  of  the  sea-gull  flash 
in  the  sunshine.  And  then  we  are  seated 
with  him  in  a  canoe  on  a  limpid  lake  in  the 
Pine  Tree  State,  and  watch  his  random 
casts  for  black  bass,  toward  sundown,  with 
the  wild  cry  of  the  loon  in  our  ears.  And 
then,  again,  we  are  wading  a  rocky  stream 
casting  the  tinseled  lure  for  the  ruby- 
studded  brook  trout,  while  the  Halcyon 
bird  springs  his  alarm  rattle  to  warn  the 
denizens  of  the  waters  over  which  he  keeps 
watch  and  ward. 

And  anon  we  are  trolling  in  the  depths  of 
8 


INTRODUCTION 

a  larger  lake  for  the  togue,  or  lake  trout, 
who  will  not  venture  his  burly  but  comely 
form  to  respond  to  the  angler's  more  sports- 
manlike surface  lure.  And  so  we  follow  our 
brother  angler  and  behold  the  mighty  leap 
of  the  tarpon;  or  the  more  graceful  curve  of 
the  salmon  as  he  bounds  from  the  silent  and 
swift  water;  and  then  to  the  tumbling 
streams  of  the  Golden  West  to  tempt  the 
crimson-banded  rainbow  trout,  or  the  salmon- 
like  steelhead  with  seductive  and  attractive 
bits  of  silk  and  feathers,  called  by  courtesy, 
a  fly. 

And  so,  in  these  stray  leaves  from  the 
"Humble  Angler's"  book  of  memory,  we 
follow  him  through  sunshine  and  storm,  by 
day  and  night,  by  tumbling  brooks  and  wide 
waters,  by  surging  streams  and  sequestered 
pools  in  quest  of  his  quarry.  And  we  share 
with  him  the  hopeful  anticipation  and  con- 
fident expectation  for  the  fruition  of  exu- 
berant success;  or  sympathize  with  him  in 
failure  of  the  fish  to  respond  to  his  cast,  or 
to  break  away,  or  in  other  vicissitudes  that 
go  to  make  up  that  delightful  uncertainty 
that  is  the  chief  incentive  and  pleasure  of 
the  angler's  life. 

And  then  at  the  "Close  of  Day,"  with  a 

9 


INTRODUCTION 

hearty  hand  clasp  we  bid  him  au  revoir  with 
wishes  for  better  luck  on  the  morrow,  and 
commend  him  to  the  cheerful,  inspiring  and 
comforting  words  of  our  Mother  Superior, 
good  Dame  Juliana  Berners,  in  her  exordium 
to  the  angler: 

"But  if  any  fish  break  away  after  that  he 
is  on  the  hook;  or  else  that  he  catch  nought; 
or  that  there  be  nought  in  the  water;  yet  at 
least  he  hath  his  wholesome  walk,  and  the 
sweet  air  of  the  mead  flowers  that  maketh 
him  hungry." 

JAMES  ALEXANDER  HENSHALL. 

Cincinnati,  Ohio, 
March,  1921. 


10 


PREFACE 

If  old  but  never-to-be-forgotten  memories 
can  be  reawakened  in  the  heart  of  those 
who  read  these  pages,  and  if  for  the  moment 
all  cares  be  cast  aside,  I  shall  rest  content. 

If  the  perusal  takes  you  back  to  the  days 
when  you  lived  close  to  nature,  the  aim 
will  have  been  fulfilled. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  kindness  of  my 
preceptor  and  friend,  Doctor  James  A.  Hen- 
shall,  who  wrote  the  introduction  and  en- 
couraged me  in  my  task,  my  own  courage 
would  have  ebbed. 

Had  I  not,  in  a  rash  moment,  almost 
promised  some  of  the  members  of  the 
Explorers'  Club,  that  some  day  I  would  at- 
tempt something  of  the  sort;  had  I  not 
listened  to  most  delightful  reminiscent  ex- 
periences at  the  Canadian  Camp  dinners; 
had  it  not  been  for  the  enjoyable  and  in- 
spiring hours  passed  in  the  happy  compan- 
ionship of  Mr.  Isaac  B.  Hosford,  Mr.  Herbert 
Pomeroy  Brown,  and  Dr.  Charles  R. 
II 


PREFACE 

Fletcher,  all  of  New  York,  and  Mr.  William 
B.  Abbott,  of  Wilton,  N.  H.,  I  doubt  greatly 
if  this  booklet  would  have  seen  the  light  of 
day. 

To  all  of  these  good  people  I  wish  to  em- 
phasize the  pleasure  their  comradeship  has 
bestowed,  and  to  them  this  volume  is  en- 
dearingly inscribed. 

FRANK  MACKIE  JOHNSON. 
Boston,  Massachusetts, 
January, 


12 


The  String  of  Sunfish 

Let  me  dream  once  more  of  childhood, 
When,  a  truant  from  the  school, 

I  went  roaming  through  the  wildwood, 
Searching  for  a  shady  pool. 

Where,  with  pole  and  line  and  pin-hook, 
Stole  the  golden  hours  away; 

Future  chances  risked  so  lightly 
For  that  sport  of  summer  day. 

One  poor  little  string  of  sunfish, 

Shrunk  and  withered  soon  were  they; 

And  sad  twilight  brought  the  feeling, 
Better  had  I  stayed  away! 

It  was  weary,  trudging  homeward; 

Luck,  to  reach  there  in  good  time; 
And  the  lie  I  had  been  planning, 

Loomed  before  me  like  a  crime. 

Still,  those  days  were  sweeter,  brighter, 
Than  the  days  to  come  can  be; 

Was  it  that  my  heart  was  lighter 
Or,  perchance,  that  I  was  free? 

13 


REMINISCENT  TALES 


Tail  First 

It  was  a  perfect  day,  the  last  one  of  June; 
the  cool  and  bracing  air  quivered  in  the 
glorious  sunshine  that  glistened  o'er  wood- 
land and  waters.  Breezes  stirred  into  ripples 
the  surface  of  the  deep,  silent  river  as  it 
flowed  through  the  Canadian  forests  in  its 
course  toward  the  sea.  Bordered  on  either 
hand  by  giant  cliffs,  sublime  in  their  dignity, 
this  magnificent  stream  might  well  have 
been  the  harbinger  of  some  exalted  monarch 
whom  Nature  had  empowered  to  reign. 

Such  a  scene  held  the  observer  entranced. 
The  vast  gorge  appeared  so  steep  it  evoked 
fear;  its  height  seemingly  pierced  the  zone 
of  brilliant  blue,  while  at  its  base  the  deep 
gliding  waters  were  as  black  as  night. 
Mystery  had  hovered  in  the  very  atmosphere 
of  this  realm  of  woodland  until  its  influence 
had  become  dominant. 

Reaching  this  spot  had  entailed  a  long, 
hard  tramp  and  the  preceding  night  had 
been  unseasonably  cold,  a  meager  tent  fur- 
nishing but  scant  shelter  and  warmth  to  the 

15 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Angler  and  his  companion.  However,  all 
discomfort  was  speedily  forgotten, — even  the 
sliding-down,  falling-down  and  rolling-down 
by  which  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  was 
reached.  No  pathway  had  ever  existed  but 
the  wayfarers  did  their  bests  to  supply  the 
need,  and  surely  enough  boulders,  rocks, 
and  stones  were  started  on  their  downward 
course  to  have  provided  sufficient  material 
for  the  erection  of  a  Hall  of  Fame  had  incli- 
nation and  time  justified  the  undertaking. 

Eugene  McCarthy,  author  of  "Familiar 
Fish,"  was  the  humble  Angler's  companion, 
A  fine  chap  and  a  keen  sportsman  was  he. 
McCarthy  knew  a  lot  about  fishing,  flies, 
fire-water,  and  a  host  of  other  things. 

On  this  particular  day  the  third  pool,  as 
it  was  called,  was  chosen.  It  was  unique  in 
its  way.  The  river  turned  rather  abruptly 
and  gradually  widened  for  some  distance, 
then  formed  a  broad  and  deep  basin  before 
sweeping  its  unbroken  waters  over  a  natural 
dam.  This  flowing  was  so  even  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  realize  that  the  barrier  had  not  been 
constructed  by  the  hand  of  man.  Within 
the  confines  of  this  basin  many  ouananiche 
or  "little  leapers"  lurked  and  waited. 

Just  over  the  dam  the  descent  was  rugged 
16 


TAIL  FIRST 

and  the  river-bed  somewhat  choked  with 
boulders  and  rocks.  All  about  these  foam- 
ing waters  crashed  and  eddied,  transforming 
themselves  into  active  miniature  rapids, 
then  becoming  quiet  again  as  they  passed 
the  foot  of  the  decline. 

Rocks  of  all  sizes  were  huddled  together 
on  either  shore  for  a  hundred  feet  or  so,  then 
broad  strips  of  glistening  white  sand  stretched 
themselves  languidly  in  the  June  sunshine 
and  in  turn  verging  into  meadows  of  waving 
green. 

Just  at  the  edge  of  the  basin  and  near  the 
bank  a  large  flat  rock  showed  above  the 
surface.  It  was  not  easy  of  access  and  pro- 
vided just  standing  space  for  one  person, 
but  it  was  an  excellent  place  for  casting, 
having  no  bush  growth  or  trees  nearby. 
Both  fishermen  used  five-ounce  split-bamboo 
rods,  selecting  the  McCarthy  and  Montreal 
flies. 

McCarthy  had  the  first  turn.  His  cast 
was  a  beautiful  one  and  a  fair-sized  fish 
struck  sharply.  An  interesting  battle  en- 
sued and  needless  to  say,  the  salmon  was 
played  and  landed  in  perfect  form.  Then 
McCarthy  rested  and  in  turn  watched  the 
Angler  try  his  skill. 

17 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

A  five-pounder  rose  smartly,  courteously 
taking  the  McCarthy  fly.  The  captive  made 
a  mad,  sharp  rush  directly  upstream  but 
without  avail,  for  he  was  soon  conquered  and 
landed. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  Angler  made  his 
last  cast.  It  was  a  long  one  nearly  reaching 
the  edge  of  the  dam.  The  flash,  leap,  and 
powerful  rush  of  a  frightened  fish  came  as  a 
surprise.  The  Angler  was  scared  and  quite 
convinced  that  the  biggest  fish  in  this  won- 
derful stream  had  accepted  his  challenge. 
A  vindictive,  maddened  dash  caused  the 
reel  to  shriek  a  war-cry  as  the  speeding  line 
lessened  its  windings. 

As  the  fish  went  over  the  dam  the  Angler 
yelled  to  McCarthy  and  jumped  to  another 
rock.  McCarthy  offered  no  assistance  but 
began  to  laugh,  while  the  Humble  Angler 
kept  on  jumping  as  best  he  could. 

In  those  days,  it  can  be  truly  said,  the 
Angler  did  resemble  a  fat  chamois  leaping 
from  crag  to  crag;  while  to-day,  alas  and 
alack!  it  would  be  far  less  difficult  for  him 
to  leap  from  jag  to  jag,  if  the  laws  of  the 
land  did  not  prohibit  indulgence  in  alcoholic 
exercise.  Had  Doug.  Fairbanks  been  present 
the  demon  of  jealousy  would  have  embit- 
18 


TAIL  FIRST 

tered  his  existence  for  he  would  have  had 
nothing  on  the  Humble  Angler, — except  his 
salary. 

He  was  too  busy  to  stop  and  laugh  at 
himself  even  if  he  had  had  the  inclination. 
Not  so  with  McCarthy,  who  loudly  whooped 
his  enjoyment.  Later  he  fully  explained 
just  how  funny  it  was.  He  may  have  been 
right.  Of  this  the  Angler  was  no  judge, 
but  he  did  know  that  later  there  appeared 
on  various  parts  of  his  anatomy  more  black 
and  blue  spots  than  ever  adorned  a  coach 
dog. 

The  fleeing  salmon  did  not  allow  time  for 
even  a  cuss  word  by  way  of  relief.  The 
Angler  lost  his  hat,  his  footing,  his  temper, 
and  his  breath,  but  managed  to  retain  rod 
and  honor. 

There  is  no  record  of  just  how  long  this 
acrobatic  performance  lasted.  Judging  by 
his  feelings  and  condition  it  might  have  been 
weeks  rather  than  minutes.  As  the  shining 
sands  extended  a  welcome,  glancing  back- 
ward he  fancied  some  of  those  ghostly  rocks 
were  grinning  their  mockery. 

At  last  the  aerial  voyage  was  over.  The 
rod  was  in  his  hand;  the  reel  was  on  the  rod; 
the  line  attached  to  the  reel,  the  leader  to 

19 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

the  line,  and  the  fly  to  the  leader.  The 
whale  and  the  fly  were  coupled,  so  he  held 
his  peace. 

Somehow  that  mammoth  aquatic  animal 
had  shrunk  to  an  alarming  degree  by  the 
time  he  was  landed,  for  when  weighed  he 
was  a  scant  two  pounds.  Perhaps  violent 
exercise  had  reduced  his  weight.  He  seemed 
to  be  in  prime  condition  though  out  of 
breath  and  somewhat  annoyed  that  the 
hook  was  firmly  embedded  in  his  tail. 

Exhausted,  the  Humble  Angler  rested  on 
the  sands  while  golden  sunlight  and  the 
whisper  of  waters  brought  tranquillity.  He 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  McCarthy 
and  the  guide  were  so  greatly  amused  and 
why  they  persisted  in  slapping  him  on  the 
back  just  when  he  was  beginning  to  breathe 
normally  again.  He  willingly  admitted  that 
catching  a  salmon  through  the  tail  could 
hardly  be  looked  upon  as  perfectly  good 
form  but  insisted  that  this  leaper  had  been 
honestly  brought  to  the  kill. 

The  tail's  tale  has  been  told  and  in  the 
memorabilia  of  piscatorial  experiences  it  has 
been  accorded  rightful  recognition. 


20 


Planking  Poachers 

Several  years  ago  it  was  the  good  fortune 
of  the  Humble  Angler  to  meet  a  gentleman 
who  proved  himself  to  be  not  only  a  fine 
fellow  but  a  true  sportsman  in  the  highest 
sense  of  the  word. 

Both  being  greatly  interested  in  all  mat- 
ters pertaining  to  fish  culture  and  other  pis- 
catorial subjects,  their  acquaintance  ripened 
rapidly,  and  when  they  parted  this  new- 
found friend  extended  a  cordial  invitation  to 
the  Angler  to  visit  him  at  his  New  Bruns- 
wick home.  This  invitation  was  accepted 
and  within  a  fortnight  the  Angler  became 
a  guest  at  Hallworthy  Manor. 

In  an  after-dinner  chat  the  host  informed 
his  guest  that  he  knew  of  a  most  excellent 
salmon  river,  owned  by  a  few  friends  of  his, 
and  expressed  his  regret  that  they  had  not 
met  earlier  in  the  season,  for  at  that  time 
both  of  them  could  have  tried  their  expert- 
ness  on  this  stream.  Major  Barnes,  barrister, 
was  a  modest  man  for  it  was  later  learned 
that,  although  a  few  friends  were  associated 

21 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

with  him,  he  really  owned  most  of  the  camps 
and  water-rights  himself. 

Perhaps  he  saw  the  look  of  disappointment 
his  guest  could  not  conceal;  anyway,  after  a 
moment's  pause  he  continued:  "Listen,  my 
dear  chap;  you  know  much  about  fish  and 
their  habits.  Will  you  arrange  to  take  a 
trip  with  any  friend  you  care  to  invite  and 
visit  the  head-waters  of  our  river? 

"There  is  a  saw-mill  near  the  source  and 
I  want  your  opinion  if  its  existence  means 
danger  or  disease  to  the  salmon.  I  have 
been  informed  that  sawdust  is  detrimental 
to  fish  life  if  there  is  much  of  it  in  the  waters, 
but  know  little  of  such  matters  myself.  If 
it  were  possible  I  should  be  delighted  to  go 
along  with  you  but  at  this  time  it  is  im- 
perative that  I  remain  here.  Everything 
you  need  will  be  supplied.  Capture  speci- 
mens enough,  even  though  it  is  late  in  the 
season,  so  that  you  can  be  absolutely  sure 
of  their  condition.  Will  you  do  me  this 
favor,  and  when  will  you  be  ready?" 

Surprised  and  gratified,  the  Angler  ex- 
pressed his  appreciation  of  the  courtesies  ex- 
tended, stating  that  two  days  would  give 
ample  time  in  which  to  complete  necessary 
arrangements.  A  handshake  and  a  wee 
22 


PLANKING  POACHERS 

nippie  sealed  the  compact.  A  merry  twinkle 
in  the  eyes  of  his  host  escaped  the  Angler's 
detection. 

A  telegram  was  immediately  dispatched 
to  an  old  friend  asking  him  to  leave  at  once 
for  Pleasantdale;  and  the  happy  Angler  de- 
parted very  certain  that  at  this  little  hamlet 
some  word  would  be  waiting. 

An  attractive  place  this  small  town  proved 
to  be  and  its  special  pride  was  the  fact  that 
it  could  boast  of  having  a  hotel.  There  was 
a  huge  sign,  on  one  side  of  which  appeared 
the  magic  words:  "PLEASANTDALE  HOTEL." 
On  the  other  side  were  a  few  small  rooms 
attached.  It  mattered  but  little  that  the 
rooms  were  tiny,  the  beds  hard,  the  pillows 
microscopic,  and  a  bath-room  invisible. 
The  mostly-chicory  blue-black  coffee  was 
forgiven  when  a  real  newborn  egg  made  its 
appearance. 

The  morning  was  grand.  The  guides  re- 
ported that  everything  was  in  readiness,  and 
a  delayed  telegram  stated  that  the  Angler's 
friend  would  be  there  that  evening. 

Billy  arrived  in  Pleasantdale  at  10  p.  M. 
The  Angler,  the  guides,  and  the  townspeople 
met  him  at  the  train  and  escorted  him  to  the 
hotel. 

23 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

There  never  was  a  keener  fly-caster  than 
this  same  Billy.  Busy  man  of  affairs  though 
he  is,  the  call  of  the  wild  he  never  could  resist. 

A  very  early  start  was  made  next  morning. 
The  guides  were  decent  chaps;  Gussie,  who 
was  tall,  lank  and  silent,  took  charge  of 
Billy;  while  Bob,  shorter,  thick-set,  and 
profane,  guided  the  Angler.  Both  paddled 
well. 

Before  the  main  stream  was  reached  a 
number  of  deer  were  seen  either  feeding  or 
scurrying  through  the  brush;  whilst  a  large 
bear,  frightened  forth  from  a  thicket,  ran 
along  the  bank  in  his  peculiar  dog-trot. 
Civilization  was  being  left  behind. 

At  noon  while  they  rested  a  few  trout 
were  caught  and  cooked  for  lunch,  and  the 
journey  was  resumed. 

The  camp  was  made  at  sunset.  As  the 
air  had  grown  chilly  a  fire  was  started  and 
its  warmth  was  most  welcome.  Everybody 
was  tired  and  turned  in  early.  The  whir  of 
waters,  the  hoot  of  owls,  and  the  rustle  of 
leaves  brought  sleep  and  restful,  soothing 
dreams. 

After  a  hearty  breakfast  at  sunrise  the 
canoes  again  headed  up  stream.  This 
proved  to  be  a  charming  river  with  its  silent 

24 


PLANKING  POACHERS 

waters  flowing  in  sinuous  curves  bordered 
on  either  side  with  dense  woods.  Finally 
they  landed  at  a  long,  narrow  island  that 
appeared  to  be  surrounded  by  deep  water. 

Here  the  bush  growth  was  scanty  and 
there  was  not  a  tree  to  be  seen.  At  one 
end  of  the  island  short-bush  blueberries 
grew  in  abundance,  being  remarkably  large 
and  most  delicious. 

There  were  two  good  pools  of  about  the 
same  size  with  plenty  of  casting  room.  The 
Angler  called  out  to  his  friend  to  take  his 
choice. 

"All  right,  Old  Man,"  replied  Billy,  'Til 
try  the  starboard  quarter." 

The  sport  that  day  exceeded  all  expecta- 
tions. Silver  Gray,  Jock  Scott,  Popham, 
and  the  Silver  Doctor  were  the  flies  selected 
and  they  were  all  well  taken.  The  anglers 
struck  the  first  fish  of  the  day  at  nearly  the 
same  moment  but  when  landed  they  proved 
to  be  females  full  of  spawn,  so  were  carefully 
unhooked  and  restored  to  their  river  freedom. 
The  guides  were  amazed  at  such  a  procedure 
but  heartily  approved  nevertheless.  As 
there  were  large  numbers  of  fish  in  the 
stream  it  was  agreed  that  none  of  the  females 
should  be  killed. 

25 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

As  the  afternoon  waned  the  agreement 
had  to  be  modified  for  the  one  grilse  that 
had  been  kept  was  scarcely  sufficient  for 
their  needs.  One  more  fish  must  be  killed 
regardless  of  gender.  Luckily  the  Angler 
landed  a  large  jack,  so  the  food  question  was 
solved. 

After  leaving  the  island  a  short  paddle 
brought  the  party  to  a  small  but  very  com- 
fortable camp.  Wishing  to  plank  his  fish, 
it  became  necessary  for  the  Angler  to  find 
a  suitable  board.  Near  the  camp,  nailed  to 
a  tree,  was  a  large  sign  with  black  lettering 
reading  something  like  this: 


NO  POACHING 


Quickly  it  was  pounded  free  and  the  fish 
planked  on  the  other  side.  Where  it  became 
burned  the  wood  was  scraped  and  the  sign 
was  replaced.  Nobody  was  ever  the  wiser, 
except  the  guides,  and  they  never  told. 

Next  day  they  returned  to  the  first  camp. 

There  was  another  branch  of  the  river  that 

might   be   called   a   short   cut   to   the   head 

waters.     The  guides  reported  the  fishing  to 

26 


PLANKING  POACHERS 

be  rather  poor  but  told  us  of  a  large  pool 
near  the  source  where  very  fine  fish  could 
be  taken. 

As  the  Angler  was  being  paddled  slowly 
along  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had 
a  duty  to  perform  and  a  report  to  make. 

"Bob/'  he  began,  "tell  me  please,  just 
where  the  mill  is  on  the  big  river, — the  one 
that  dumps  so  much  sawdust  into  the 
stream." 

Bob  stopped  paddling,  shifted  his  quid, 
and  giving  the  Angler  a  curious  look,  growled 
out:  "What  in  Hell  be  ye  a-talkin'  'bout? 
Never  was,  ain't,  and  never's  likely  to  be 
no  sawmill  in  these  diggin's.  Lived  here 
goin'  on  forty  years  'n  never  seen  a  log  yit. 
Some  darn  fool  was  a-guyin'  ye." 

No  more  he  said.  No  more  was  needed. 
The  Angler  was  a  poacher, — a  common 
•poacher!  This  Angler,  who  had  never 
poached  anything  but  an  egg  and  who  had 
never  before  knowingly  broken  a  law.  And 
he  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to  plank  his  fish 
on  the  painted  sign!  And  Billy  was  a 
poacher,  too,  only  he  did  not  know  it. 

When  once  more  at  home  the  Humble 
Angler  wrote  to  the  Major  and  thanked  him 
for  his  delightful  trip,  expressing  his  appre- 
27 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

ciation  of  all  that  had  been  done  for  himself 
and  companion. 

A  postscript  was  added:  "Professional 
and  Official.  The  salmon  taken  from  the 
river  were  found  to  be  in  remarkably  good 
condition.  No  ill  effects  from  the  sawdust, 
that  might  be  found  in  the  waters,  were  de- 
tected." 


28 


A  Day  of  Daze 

When  Dr.  Henshall  said,  "Inch  for  inch 
and  pound  for  pound,  there  is  no  gamier 
fish  in  American  waters  than  the  small- 
mouthed  black  bass/'  the  tribute  was  well 
deserved.  Dr.  Henshall  is  always  right  in 
whatever  he  asserts  or  writes  about  in  his 
charming  way. 

The  Humble  Angler,  for  years  an  ardent 
admirer  and  follower  of  his  teachings,  has 
become  as  enthusiastic  as  his  master.  Most 
unexpectedly  the  opportunity  came  enabling 
him  to  prove  emphatically  all  his  friend  and 
preceptor  claimed  concerning  the  clever 
gameness  of  the  black  bass. 

In  the  vastness  of  the  Maine  forests  lies 
a  wondrous  lake.  Hidden  from  view  amid 
the  wealth  of  pine  and  fir  that  borders  it 
about,  one  must  be  familiar  with  the  un- 
marked pathways  and  short-cuts  in  this 
section  of  woodland  to  locate  it  at  all.  So 
secluded  and  so  far  from  the  public  high- 
way it  has  remained  unknown  to  the  army  of 
anglers  who  are  content  to  seek  the  more 
accessible  and  better  known  resorts. 
29 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

This  gem  of  inland  waters  has  a  bewitch- 
ing charm  of  its  own,  and  in  contour  and 
colour  differs  greatly  from  the  other  lochs 
that  abound  in  the  vicinity. 

A  narrow,  rough,  and  choked  pathway, 
hardly  worthy  of  being  called  a  road, 
abruptly  branches  from  the  highway  like 
some  forsaken  and  aged  trail  that  might 
have  been  used  by  lumbermen  in  the  winter 
season.  It  winds  up  hill  and  down  dell  for 
at  least  three  miles.  In  many  of  the  low 
places,  crossed  by  small  streams,  the  over- 
flow has  made  muck  holes  difficult  of  navi- 
gation. The  rocky  shore  of  the  lake  itself 
ends  the  trail. 

The  observer  views  a  broad  sheet  of 
sparkling,  rippling  waters,  circular  in  out- 
line. At  different  segments  of  the  huge 
bowl  masses  of  thick  pine  growth  throw 
deep  shadows  on  the  surface.  Patches  of 
white  birches  give  light  and  color  to  other 
portions,  while  bending  bush  bedecks  the 
lowlands  in  a  medley  of  vivid  greens,  pro- 
ducing a  variety  of  shadings  perfectly 
blended. 

At  first  glance  this  circle  gives  the  impres- 
sion of  completeness,  but  careful  inspection 
shows  at  either  end  juttings  of  thickly  wooded 

3° 


A  DAY  OF  DAZE 

headlands,  each  obscuring  a  winding,  twist- 
ing passageway  to  another  lake.  Thus  is 
formed  a  trio,  hard  to  surpass  in  beauty. 

One  who  loved  nature  and  appreciated 
fully  the  gifts  she  bestows  had  built  a  com- 
fortable camp  not  far  from  the  shores,  where 
in  this  forest  and  lake-bound  retreat  he  found 
restful  enjoyment. 

A  royal  welcome  was  accorded  the  visi- 
tors. Although  himself  a  hunter  by  choice 
he  was  delighted  to  place  at  their  disposal 
such  equipment  as  he  possessed. 

A  commodious  rowboat  accommodated 
the  young  lady,  her  escort,  and  the  guide. 
The  only  other  available  boat  was  a  sunken 
derelict.  Emptied  and  righted,  it  would 
float,  but  it  leaked  rather  badly.  A  piece  of 
rough  fence  rail  and  a  semblance  of  an  oar, 
now  aged  and  infirm,  constituted  the  pro- 
pulsive force  when  carefully  and  laboriously 
manipulated.  The  bailing  was  good. 

Both  boats  started  at  the  same  time  but 
in  opposite  directions.  Soon  the  Angler 
drifted  out  of  sight  of  his  companions. 
Propelling  the  skiff  as  best  he  could,  a  splash 
among  the  pads  attracted  his  attention  and 
a  fleeting  glance  caught  the  leap  of  a  splendid 
small-mouth. 

31 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

This  token  gave  hope.  Teasing  to  wind- 
ward his  porous  bark,  he  cast  toward  the 
pads  but  not  among  them.  The  cast  con- 
sisted of  three  flies  on  No.  6  sproat  hooks; 
Henshall  for  the  drop;  scarlet  Ibis,  midway; 
and  Montreal,  tail-fly; — in  order  to  ascer- 
tain which  one  might  prove  to  be  the  favorite. 

Breezes  rippled  the  surface  just  enough, 
the  sunlight  was  exactly  right,  and  the  day 
showed  that  these  elusive  warriors  were  in 
the  proper  mood,  for  artificial  flies  were 
successful  lures.  Swift  rushes  and  rises, 
sharp  strikes  and  powerful  fighting  began 
and  continued. 

In  a  leaky  boat,  minus  a  landing  net  or 
anyone  to  aid  him,  the  Angler  became  too 
occupied  to  make  any  changes  in  his  tackle 
had  he  so  wished,  as  a  school  of  excited  and 
large  fish  began  to  leap  all  about  and  near 
the  lily-pads.  Years  of  experience  made  it 
possible  for  him  to  keep  calm  and  work 
carefully,  so  not  a  fish  was  lost. 

Act  the  first  ended;  for  it  became  obliga- 
tory to  cry  a  halt  and  bail.  Truly  a  strange 
metamorphosis  had  taken  place.  The  fish 
taken  had  been  quickly  and  gently  un- 
hooked and  fell  back  into  their  element;  but 
only  in  the  portion  encircled  by  the  frame- 

32 


A  DAY  OF  DAZE 

work  of  this  Van  Winkle  heirloom.  It  was 
changed  to  a  floating  aquarium.  And  they 
were  quite  happy  for  they  were  only  semi- 
conscious of  the  fact  that  they  were  cap- 
tives. 

Act  the  second  was  but  a  repetition.  So 
eagerly  and  voraciously  these  strong,  active 
chaps  responded  to  the  lure,  thrice  a  trio 
of  them  needed  all  care  and  skill,  while  many 
doubles  followed.  In  the  interim  the  singles 
proved  worthy  antagonists. 

Anxious  for  a  good  creel  and  with  every 
moment  taken  up,  the  Angler  utterly  forgot 
two  important  matters,  namely:  to  count 
the  fish  as  they  were  taken,  and  to  bail. 

Bailing  was  the  more  necessary,  for  should 
the  aquarium  sink  an  accurate  knowledge 
of  arithmetic  would  prove  superfluous.  En- 
ergy and  swiftness  of  action  were  demanded. 

The  Angler  bailed  and  bailed  and  bailed 
some  more,  yet  the  lake  rather  enjoyed  re- 
turning more  quickly  than  it  could  be  thrown 
out  of  the  spongy  aquarium.  Then  he  re- 
sorted to  the  arduous  procedure  of  bailing  on 
one  side  and  using  the  fence  rail  on  the  other. 

His  strength  was  not  equal  to  such  a 
strain  and  his  vessel  reeled,  pushed  her  nose 
skyward  and  settled  aft. 

33 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Act  the  third  consisted  of  tumbling  over- 
board just  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  with  a 
few  strokes  he  shoved  her  toward  the  rocky 
shore  where  she  caught  and  stuck. 

The  weary,  wobbly,  and  wet  Angler 
waited  for  his  companions.  If  his  matches 
and  cigars  had  not  been  wet,  he  could  have 
smoked;  if  he  was  thirsty  he  could  drink  in 
the  enchanting  scene.  Little  did  he  care, 
for  were  not  his  fish  alive  and  well? 

It  was  not  long  before  his  friends  spied 
him.  To  them  the  boat  looked  as  if  it  had 
been  swamped. 

"Hello  there,  what's  the  matter?  Fall 
overboard?"  was  shouted  by  one  of  them. 

"Me?  Do  you  think  I  fell  overboard? 
Nothing  of  the  kind.  Been  in  swimming. 
Draw  near,  pretty  ones,  draw  near.  I've 
something  to  show  you." 

This  they  did  and  gazed  upon  the  treasures 
that  the  aquarium  held  at  close  range. 

A  chorus  of  exclamations  arose  in  a  mo- 
ment. A  free  translation  follows: 

"Bully  for  you,  old  chap!" 

"Oh,  how  splendid!" 

"Why  didn't  you  leave  a  few?" 

"Gee,  look  at  that  whale!" 

"Well,  I'll  bed--d!" 

34 


A  DAY  OF  DAZE 

"Great  Scott,  what  a  gang!" 

"Best  fisherman  I  ever  see!" 

"Oh,  you  poor  dear,  you  are  wet  through 
and  through!" 

"I'm  starved,  soaked,  and  sober,"  replied 
the  Humble  Angler,  as  soon  as  he  could 
make  himself  heard  above  the  babel.  "Get 
ye  hence,  good  people,  build  the  fire  and 
make  ready  the  grub.  I'll  be  with  you  in  a 
jiffy."  And  so  saying,  he  jumped  into  the 
water  and  resumed  bailing. 

Suddenly  he  had  a  sharp  chill.  It  was 
not  due  to  his  wetting,  but  to  fear.  He  had 
counted  thirty  fish  and  consequently  had 
almost  broken  the  law.  Not  quite,  however, 
for  the  fish  were  still  alive.  Gently,  one  by 
one,  he  restored  his  captives  to  their  rightful 
home,  only  retaining  the  largest  ones  and 
not  more  than  could  be  used. 

The  guide  now  helped,  and  combining 
their  efforts  the  aquarium  was  turned  on  her 
side.  When  she  was  righted  she  became 
just  the  leaky  old  boat  again. 

Fire,  food,  a  smoke,  and  a  rehearsal  of 
experiences  brought  added  pleasure.  And 
as  the  other  members  of  the  party  had  a 
full  creel,  it  was  a  happy  group  that  rested 
'neath  the  pines  until  the  sinking  sun 

35 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

warned  them  that  they  must  start  if  they 
wished  to  reach  the  camp  before  dusk. 

The  Angler  did  not  care  to  fish  on  his 
return  trip,  preferring  to  devote  his  efforts 
to  exhibitions  of  various  methods  of  rowing, 
sculling,  and  pushing. 

Their  host  was  on  the  lookout  and  as  the 
boats  drew  up  alongside  the  wharf,  shouted, 
"Had  any  luck?" 

"Luck,"  replied  the  Angler,  "why  it  was 
great!  Never  had  such  fishing  in  all  my 
life.  Take  a  look  at  these,  Judge,  and  see 
for  yourself.  Hold  them  up,  Charlie.  Now, 
what  do  you  think?" 

"Well,  well,  you  are  a  good  fisherman.  I 
never  knew  there  were  such  bouncers  about, 
and  I've  camped  here  ten  years  or  so," 
gasped  the  surprised  man. 

Again  was  the  story  told  before  they  said 
"au  revo'ir"  and  they  tried  to  express  their 
gratitude  for  the  Judge's  courtesy.  They 
departed  carrying  with  them  a  cordial  invi- 
tation to  come  and  spend  a  week,  and  their 
host's  promise  that  he  would  go  along  with 
them  next  time. 


Pioneers  of  the  Forest 

In  the  small  but  rather  attractive  village 
of  Eustis,  Maine,  there  once  lived  a  family 
who  became  well  known  to  most  of  the 
sportsmen  who  visited  that  section  of  the 
country. 

The  household  consisted  of  Mrs.  Andrew 
Douglas,  her  husband,  and  Joe,  an  adopted 
son.  Mrs.  Andrew  was  the  personage  whose 
word  was  law,  and  her  approval  or  disap- 
proval disposed  of  every  question  that  agi- 
tated the  household  in  its  welfare. 

Her  manipulation  of  discarded  fruit  and 
vegetable  cans,  combined  with  a  copious 
amount  of  bean  water,  as  a  fertilizer,  brought 
forth  a  constant  display  of  gorgeous  flowers, 
that  gave  touches  of  brightness  and  color  to 
this  simple  and  neat  home. 

She  was  the  midwife  of  the  town  and  when 
illness  appeared  it  was  due  to  her  notherly 
care,  combined  with  a  remarkable  knowl- 
edge of  medicinal  herbs  plus  unlimited  com- 
mon sense,  that  enabled  her  patients  to  im- 
prove rapidly. 

She  was  at  the  head  of  all  the  local  branches 

37 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

of  the  various  societies  and  associations,  and 
a  devout  church  woman.  In  earlier  years 
she  had  shared  in  the  kill  of  big  game  for 
the  market  and  handled  weapons  as  well  as 
any  man  ever  did. 

Perhaps  one  incident  clearly  demonstrates 
the  strength  she  possessed  and  her  deep 
maternal  love. 

These  qualities  and  the  Spartan  spirit, 
always  a  characteristic  of  her  personality, 
made  it  possible,  when  her  eldest  son  met 
with  an  accident,  to  carry  him  on  her  back 
seven  weary  long  miles  through  the  snow 
to  a  hamlet  where  a  doctor  could  take 
proper  care  of  him. 

It  is  true  that  both  in  speech  and  manner 
this  woman  of  forestland  showed  a  little 
roughness,  but  withal  she  was  a  most  kindly 
soul  and  well  beloved. 

Andrew  was  a  renowned  moose  hunter, 
and  Joe  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  best 
guide  and  woodsman  in  the  state  of  Maine. 

The  family  sojourned  in  the  summer 
months  at  a  most  comfortable  camp  on  the 
shores  of  Deer  Lake,  half  way  to  the  King 
and  Bartlett  Lakes.  It  was  customary  for 
visitors  to  stop  for  dinner  at  their  camp  on 
their  tramp  to  the  larger  lakes. 

38 


PIONEERS  OF  THE  FOREST 

The  Angler  first  met  Mrs.  Douglas  when 
he  tarried  for  a  noon  meal.  Liking  the  place 
far  better  than  any  other  he  had  seen,  he 
chose  Deer  Lake  as  headquarters  for  a 
number  of  seasons. 

It  became  customary  each  evening  for  all 
of  them  to  gather  about  a  cheery  wood  fire 
and  chat  over  the  events  of  the  day.  A  wee 
nightcap  was  never  forgotten  just  before  re- 
tiring. Many  stories  were  told  of  the  priva- 
tions and  hardships  of  pioneer  days  all  re- 
plete in  interest  and  some  of  them  tragic  in 
character. 

For  camp  wear  she  selected  apparel  of 
blue  and  white  calico  gowns.  In  wet  weather 
a  man's  oil-skin  suit,  rubber  boots,  and  a 
regular  fisherman's  hat  served  her  needs  to 
her  perfect  satisfaction. 

When  necessary  to  go  to  Eustis  on  a 
rainy  day  she  rode,  bare  back,  a  raw-boned 
ungainly  old  plug,  named  "General."  This 
peculiar  combination  was  inimitable. 

Between  Mrs.  Douglas  and  the  Angler  a 
warm  friendship  existed.  He  called  her 
"Aunty/'  and  in  return  her  affection  was 
expressed  by  the  endearing  term  of  "Son." 

Mrs.  Douglas  received  a  letter,  just  pre- 
ceding the  Angler's  annual  visit,  stating 

39 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

that  he  would  arrive  quite  late  at  Eustis  on 
a  Saturday  evening.  Would  she  see  him  on 
Sunday  morning  at  the  hotel? 

A  small  steamer  trunk  filled  the  space  in 
one  corner  of  the  room  he  occupied.  A 
little  wooden  box  had  been  deposited  on 
top  of  the  trunk. 

The  Angler,  attired  in  pajamas,  as  he 
lounged  upon  the  bed  enjoying  the  delicious 
air  and  the  peace  of  a  Sabbath  morn,  heard 
a  gentle  knocking  at  the  door. 

In  response  to  his  "Come  in,"  Aunty 
swept  into  the  room  garbed  in  her  very 
best  go-to-meeting  clothes.  On  each  side 
of  her  face  her  hair  had  been  slicked  down 
severely.  It  was  twisted  into  a  hard,  small 
ball  at  the  back. 

Held  in  position  by  an  enormous  black 
ribbon  bow,  a  diminutive  black  bonnet  sup- 
ported huge  red  peonies  on  the  right  and 
left.  A  black  satin  dress,  supposedly  up-to- 
date,  listed  to  port  and  dragged  aft  to  a 
marked  degree,  but  fitted  perfectly  other- 
wise. An  imitation  black  lace  shawl  drooped 
from  her  shoulders.  Her  hands  were  par- 
tially covered  by  old-fashioned  mitts. 

Over  her  left  bosom  an  emblem  of  the 
Queen's  Daughters  or  something  of  the  kind 
40 


PIONEERS  OF  THE  FOREST 

rose  and  fell  in  cadence  with  her  breathing. 
Her  slightest  movement  caused  a  rattling 
like  the  linen  spinnaker  of  an  English  cutter 
makes  when  a  fresh  breeze  is  caught  fully. 

A  profusion  of  cheap  rings  intensified  the 
distorted  finger  joints.  The  rattling  became 
more  marked  as  with  folded  hands  in  front 
she  advanced  slowly  toward  the  bed.  When 
this  was  reached,  she  managed  to  sit  half- 
way down  upon  it.  Then  she  gently 
smoothed  her  garments,  folded  her  hands 
again,  and  smiled  down  upon  the  Angler. 

"Well,  Son,  how  be  yer,  an'  how  did  yer 
winter?"  she  inquired  anxiously.  "Yer  ain't 
be  a-lookin'  quite  pert  'nough  to  please  me; 
gess  they  druv  yer  too  much  sence  yer  went 
back  agin,  didn't  they?" 

"Aunty,  I  am  all  tired  out,  but  you  don't 
know  how  glad  I  am  to  get  here.  Holy 
smoke!  How  fine  you  look!  Never  saw 
you  in  glad  rags  before;  why,  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  would  become  envious  if  she  could 
see  you  now." 

The  plans  for  the  following  day  were 
talked  over,  an  early  start  being  decided  upon. 

Nothing  ever  escaped  Aunty's  eagle  eye 
and  she  spied  the  familiar  wooden  box  on 
top  of  the  trunk. 

41 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

"See  yer  didn't  fergit  yer  med'cin',  Son, 
did  yer?  Yer  brung  alon'  last  year  a  box 
juss  like  that  'ere  one  a-settin'  over  there 
in  the  corner.  It's  sure  tarnel  kind  in  yer 
to  thunk  on  it." 

"That's  all  right,  Aunty,  but  listen.  It's 
bully  good  to  see  you  again  and  to  know 
that  to-morrow  we'll  be  in  camp  once  more. 
Let's  celebrate.  I'll  get  a  hammer,  open 
the  box,  pull  a  cork  and  mix  a  wee  nippie, 
just  for  luck;  how  does  that  hit  you?" 

"Son,  yer  allers  wuz  a  gen'rus  an'  thought- 
ful cuss.  Now  ther  hain't  be  nuthin'  in  this 
"ere  world  I'd  ruther  do,  but,  Son,  I  can't 
do  it  nohow.  I'm  superintendent  of  that 

G d Sunday  school,  an'  some  one 

might  ketch  a  smellin'  of  my  breath." 

Oh!  the  agony  that  came  to  the  poor 
Angler.  How  much  he  wanted  to  laugh  yet 
did  not  dare. 

The  reason  given  for  refusing  was  a  simple 
and  clear  one.  Emphasis  made  it  stronger, 
and  this  was  as  the  good  woman  intended. 


A  Novel  Lure 

Although  the  speckled  beauty  of  the 
brook  excels  all  other  inhabitants  of  sweet 
waters  in  loveliness  and  alertness,  in  his 
omnivorous  desire  to  appease  the  hunger 
dominating  his  existence  all  selective  tend- 
encies are  eradicated.  Artificial  baits  and 
lures,  both  weird  and  strange,  hold  a  re- 
markable fascination,  although  inexplicable. 

The  Angler  in  many  years  of  experience 
had  become  familar  with  the  majority  of 
these  gastronomic  delights,  but  chanced  to 
discover  one  much  more  unique  and  odd  than 
any  of  them. 

A  hearty  invitation  to  visit  the  summer 
home  of  a  good  friend — a  big-hearted  and 
generous  sort  of  a  chap — had  been  received 
and  accepted.  The  Angler  believed  him  to 
be  not  only  an  ardent  fisherman  but  a 
skilled  one. 

This  impression  was  derived  from  all  he 
told  him  about  a  trout  stream,  its  locality 
and  the  number  of  fish  caught. 

He  offered  no  suggestions  when  asking  the 

43 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Angler  to  select  everything  necessary  for 
himself  and  friends  during  the  fishing  season. 

It  became  a  pleasant  duty  for  the  Angler 
to  do  as  requested.  A  rod,  reel,  line,  a  few 
small  hooks,  a  box  of  split-shot,  and  an  assort- 
ment of  favorite  flies  were  selected.  The  flies 
were  tied  on  No.  6  hooks  and  in  bunches  of  a 
half  dozen  of  each  kind.  A  few  leaders  added 
made  the  outfit  quite  complete. 

The  Angler  left  on  a  Friday  afternoon  and 
arrived  at  his  friend's  house  that  evening. 
It  was  a  comfortable  shack  not  far  from  the 
ocean.  Plans  for  an  early  start  were  made  be- 
fore they  retired.  Enumerating  just  what 
the  outfit  contained  he  handed  it  to  his  host. 

During  the  night  it  rained  hard.  The 
sportsmen  arose  at  daybreak,  had  breakfast, 
and  made  a  start  as  soon  as  a  sleepy  old  nag 
could  be  harnessed  into  an  old-fashioned  but 
comfortable  buggy. 

After  a  somewhat  lengthy  drive  a  farm- 
house was  found  where  they  changed  their 
shoes  for  long  rubber  boots  and  left  the  team 
in  the  barn.  They  walked  from  the  house 
to  the  brook.  When  it  was  located  the  bush 
growth  proved  to  be  extremely  thick  and  no 
chance  to  cast  at  all. 

The  utter  astonishment  of  the  Angler  may 

44 


A  NOVEL  LURE 

be  imagined  when  Ned  stepped  calmly  into 
the  stream  and  began  wading  toward  its 
source.  He  could  say  nothing,  but  naturally 
followed. 

They  emerged  shortly  into  an  open 
meadow  and  here  there  was  plenty  of  space 
and  one  decent  pool. 

The  Angler  suggested  to  Ned  that  he  whip 
this  pool  most  thoroughly,  while  he  would 
follow  the  stream  higher  up  and  ascertain 
the  lay  of  the  land. 

This  he  did,  finding  that  the  brook  be- 
came smaller  and  smaller  and  almost  hid- 
den by  long  grasses.  To  try  flies  seemed  use- 
less. A  small  foot  bridge  made  of  two  planks 
attracted  his  attention.  A  fair  amount  of 
water  flowed  underneath. 

He  now  removed  the  leader  and  substi- 
tuted a  baited  hook.  Crawling  near  enough 
to  toss  it  into  the  brook,  a  trout  was  taken, 
so  he  kept  on  until  he  had  half  a  dozen.  These 
were  sufficient  for  lunch  and  he  stopped  fish- 
ing, leisurely  wandering  toward  the  pool. 
The  stream  he  decided  was  only  a  brooklet, 
having  its  source  among  the  hills.  There 
were  no  other  pools. 

Ned,  The  Fisherman,  was  still  sitting  on 
the  bank,  the  sun  at  his  back,  bobbing  the 

45 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

line  up  and  down,  down  and  up — earnest, 
serious,  and  intense. 

"What  luck,  Ned?"  asked  the  Angler. 

"Nothing   yet,"   he   replied. 

"What  are  you  fishing  with?" 

"Flies,"  he  answered. 

It  was  the  actual  truth.  A  sinker  had  been 
fastened  to  the  leader  and  the  entire  bunch 
of  brown  hackles  secured  to  the  middle  loop. 
Bobbing  them  up  and  down  patiently  await- 
ing the  appearance  of  a  hungry  trout. 

To  entice  still  more  this  dreamland  beauty, 
his  shadow  cast  itself  upon  the  water,  and 
being  a  large  man  this  shadow  was  of  broad- 
ened dimensions. 

Still  the  mighty  fish  absolutely  scorned  the 
six  brown  hackles  and  the  cooling  shade. 
Very  strange  indeed,  very  strange. 

The  Angler  did  not  laugh.  HE  DID 
HAVE  A  PAIN,  just  where  is  immaterial. 
He  was  far  from  home  and  the  way  back  was 
unknown,  so  he  did  not  even  dare  to  smile. 

"Too  bad,  too  bad,  but  never  mind,  here 
are  enough  for  lunch,"  he  simply  said. 

"Let's  see  'em,"  interrupted  Ned. 

The  creel  was  opened,  the  little  fish  were 
in  rigor  mortis  but  still  beautiful  in  coloring. 

"What  are  they?"  Ned  inquired.  The 
46 


A  NOVEL  LURE 

Angler  heard  not,  for  a  moment  he  turned 
his  back,  lit  a  cigar,  and  silently  prayed  for 
strength. 

Finally  he  answered, "TROUT." 

"Oh,"  murmured  the  exhausted  host,  "I 
never  saw  one  before." 

"It's  too  hot  to  fish  longer;  let's  go  back 
and  try  the  ocean,"  coughed  rather  than 
spoke  the  Angler,  for  the  cigar  smoke  choked 
and  nearly  made  him  weep. 

"All  right,"  Ned  agreed.  He  looked  hot 
and  tired  but  intensely  relieved. 

When  in  church  or  during  a  funeral  service, 
or  a  companion  breaks  every  tradition  of 
piscatorial  law  and  a  person  tries  to  stifle  a 
powerful  laugh,  because  it  is  not  good  man- 
ners to  show  others  you  happen  to  be  amused, 
then  the  suffering  that  the  Humble  Angler 
underwent  can  be  more  fully  understood. 

Two  things  bothered  him  and  never  were 
explained.  Why,  rubber  boots  were  worn 
where  there  was  not  water  enough  to  have 
filled  them,  and  what  became  of  the  six 
brown  hackles? 

A  task  remained.  Ned  must  be  taught  to 
use  flies  properly.  Fortune  smiled  this  time. 
A  brackish  river  flowed  lazily,  quite  near  the 
shack.  Its  waters  abounded  with  white 

47 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

perch.  Shrimps  were  tried  first,  then  flies 
substituted.  The  perch  rose  readily.  Ed- 
ward profited  by  this  first  lesson.  He  caught 
fish  quite  in  the  right  manner  and  enjoyed  it 
immensely. 

The  Angler  saw  a  large  school  of  young 
pollack  in  the  bay  the  following  morning. 
Casting  'mid  the  waves  among  them,  a 
number  were  obtained.  The  school  soon 
sought  deeper  water.  He  suggested  to  Ned 
that  they  take  a  boat  and  follow  them,  but 
nothing  would  induce  Edward  to  abandon 
his  secure  post  on  the  pier,  so  the  Angler  went 
alone  and  Ned  watched  him. 

Both  joined  a  fishing  club  in  Canada,  later 
in  the  year.  Ned  became  a  most  enthusias- 
tic sportsman,  and,  in  time,  an  expert. 

Delightful  trips  in  different  seasons  were 
taken  by  them.  The  Angler  never  men- 
tioned the  incident.  Today  it  is  a  pleasant 
thought  for  him  to  remember  that  he  did  not 
strike  the  gaff  when  his  host  demonstrated 
that  new  and  novel  lure. 


White  Perch  De  Luxe 

Two  men  in  a  boat — this  particular  boat 
being  a  canoe.  A  girl  was  there  also  because 
she  had  been  invited,  and  she  made  three  in 
this  canoe,  as  you  can  see  plainly — 

The  Girl— The  Angler— The  Guide. 

The  guide  very  naturally  gave  his  entire 
attention  to  the  charming  guest,  as  he  was 
young  himself. 

It  was  an  exquisite  morning  in  August.  A 
brilliant  blue  sky,  pleasant  sunshine  be- 
stowed comfortable  warmth,  while  gentle 
breezes  made  the  shadows  of  flying  clouds 
dance  on  the  surface  of  the  waters. 

The  lake  itself  was  a  rare  gem  of  woodland. 
Great  and  small  islands  imparted  a  pleasing 
diversity  of  color  and  outlines.  At  various 
places  the  irregular  shore  line  formation 
spread  into  beaches  of  pebbled  sands  or 
massed  in  ledges  the  high  rocks  boldly  jutted 
far  out  from  the  shores. 

Here  and  there  patches  of  white  birches, 
bursts  of  meadow  land  or  dense  bush  growth 

49 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

lent  their  charms.  High  hills,  their  slopes 
thickly  studded  with  compact  foliage  of  vivid 
greens,  arose  from  the  water's  edge. 

To  an  observer  successive  rapid  turnings 
and  windings,  all  replete  in  beauty,  begat 
surprises. 

A  broad  flowing  river  forms  the  outlet. 
Along  its  banks  myriads  of  handsome  pond 
lilies  bloomed,  filling  the  air  with  their 
fragrance. 

This  stream  wends  its  quiet  way  for  miles 
and  miles  through  meadow  lands.  At  irregu- 
lar distances  diminutive  ponds  or  mud  ponds, 
as  they  are  styled,  are  formed. 

In  most  of  them,  en  masse,  these  delicate 
pond  lily  flowers,  blossom  and  fade  unseen 
save  by  the  winged  life  of  woods  and  waters. 

(Lilies  begin  to  shut  up  at  I  P.  M.,  and  not 
i  A.  M.,  as  human  beings  do.) 

The  waters  teem  with  large  white  perch, 
larger  pickerel,  and  the  ordinary  pond  fish. 

A  white  perch,  as  far  as  his  strength  per- 
mits him  to  be,  is  a  dead  game  fish.  When 
schooling,  they  are  extremely  lively  and  in 
chasing  small  fry  well  near  the  shore,  make 
the  water  buzz  in  their  hunger-rushes. 

They  rise  to  a  fly  or  take  a  bait  in  a  raven- 
ous manner  but  only  for  a  brief  time,  then 

50 


WHITE  PERCH  LE  LUXE 

suddenly  stop  and  can  not  be  tempted  again 
until  late  in  the  afternoon. 

When  about,  gulls  are  excellent  guides. 
Where  they  are  seen  hovering  or  diving, 
that's  the  place  where  the  perch  are  feeding. 

The  spot  chosen  for  fishing  was  at  the  end 
of  a  small  baylike  curvature  skirting  the  edge 
of  pads  and  long  grasses. 

It's  good  fun  to  cast  small  flies  for  hungry 
white  perch;  but  not  difficult,  as  they  strike 
sharply. 

Rather  small  flies,  say  No.  8,  bright  in 
coloring,  are  well  taken.  The  Angler  chose 
a  light-wing  Davis,  Parmachenee  belle  and 
a  Montreal.  The  young  lady,  a  King  of  the 
waters,  Scarlet  Ibis  and  a  Brown  hackle. 

When  this  daughter  of  Neptune  struck  a 
fish  immediately  she  landed  him.  Fre- 
quently she  had  two  on  the  cast  and  twice  a 
trio  responded.  She  did  not  lose  a  single  fish, 
for  her  gallant  guide  stopped  flirting  with  her 
and  flirted  the  fish  very  carefully  into  the 
boat.  The  Angler  allowed  his  cast  to  fill  each 
time  before  teasing  the  captives  near  the  boat. 

White  perch  are  the  most  delicious  of  the 
food  fishes  that  inhabit  sweet  waters.  That 
morning  all  that  were  needed  were  taken  in 
a  clean  and  sportsmanlike  fashion. 

51 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

There  was  a  pretty  little  camp  quite  near 
at  hand,  almost  hidden  among  young  white 
birches.  The  clever  owner  blasted  the  rock 
formation,  making  a  landing  from  a  canoe  a 
simple  and  safe  thing  to  accomplish. 

The  intention  of  the  outing  party  was  to 
rest  and  wait  for  the  afternoon  fishing,  but 
this  intention  was  never  fulfilled. 

Just  before  embarking  in  the  morning,  Miss 
Neptune  confessed  frankly  that  she  was 
scared  to  try  a  canoe.  Gratified  and  inter- 
ested thoroughly  when  she  realized  her 
teacher  was  being  beaten,  her  fears  vanished. 
Once  she  arose  to  her  feet  and  attempted  to 
walk  from  the  stern  to  the  bow. 

The  guide  warned  her  just  in  time.  How- 
ever this  lesson  was  forgotten  when  my  lady 
fair  wished  to  gather  lilies  before  the  after- 
noon start  was  made. 

The  canoe,  the  maiden,  and  the  solicitous 
guide  set  out  to  gather  fragrant  flowers. 
Anxious  to  collect  a  goodly  quantity,  she  for- 
got each  time  that  the  wrist  watch  worn  on 
the  reaching-out  arm  took  a  bath  each  and 
every  grab  she  made  for  the  desired  flower. 

Not  being  familiar  with  the  tenacity  of  the 
long,  slippery  stems  she  hung  on  too  long 
and  too  hard,  and  as  a  consequence  she  pulled 

52 


WHITE  PERCH  LE  LUXE 

herself  overboard  before  the  guide  could 
prevent. 

Fortunately  the  water  was  not  deep. 
Rather  a  mess  for  a  time,  but  the  shore  was 
made,  the  lilies  saved,  while  the  dampened 
lady  laughed,  exclaiming  emphatically: 

"Anyway,  I  did  get  the  one  I  wanted  and 
I  never  let  go  of  it  either/' 

This  was  true  too.  No  harm  followed  the 
ducking.  Little  things  akin  to  this  incident 
never  trouble  a  true  fisherman  or  a  fisher- 
woman. 

White  perch  unusual  in  size,  pond  lilies  of 
superb  fragrance  and  beauty,  and  the  addi- 
tion of  a  refreshing  bath  certainly  created 
a  piscatorial  de  luxe  fancy,  complete  in  each 
detail. 


53 


Where  Chasms  Frown 

In  her  wheezy  efforts  to  maintain  headway, 
an  asthmatic  tug  boat  tickled  the  waters  of 
Puget  Sound  into  smothered  laughter.  Her 
worn-out  appearance  branded  her  as  a  relic 
of  better  days. 

This  particular  craft  had  been  hired  by  the 
Humble  Angler  to  convey  him  from  Portland 
to  the  breeding  grounds  of  the  Salmon  and 
the  Rainbow  trout.  It  was  the  only  vessel 
that  could  be  chartered. 

From  the  peculiar  actions  of  "Kate  Long" 
and  those  of  her  captain,  engineer  and  crew — 
the  crew  being  composed  of  the  aforesaid 
individuals — the  Angler  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  an  explosion,  a  sinking,  or  a  part- 
ing in  twain  might  at  any  moment  disturb 
the  placidity  of  the  voyage,  and  this  convic- 
tion was  strengthened  when  he  observed  on 
the  part  of  both  officers  and  crew  a  strict 
obedience  to  the  laws  of  navigation,  fre- 
quently demonstrated  by  partaking  liberally 
of  a  mixture  of  whisky  and  sherry  wine. 

Then  things  changed.  The  engineer  in- 
sisted in  confiding  to  the  lonely  passenger  the 

54 


WHERE  CHASMS  FROWN 

secrets  of  his  life,  the  recital  affecting  him 
strongly,  and  caused  weeping.  While  he  wept, 
sleep  overcame  him  and  the  passenger  de- 
parted. 

The  captain  then  caught  sight  of  him  and 
invited  this  worried  being  to  join  him  in  the 
pilot  house.  Would  he  take  the  wheel  for 
a  while? 

"Certainly,"  was  the  answer.  The  zigzag 
wake  of  the  tug  made  it  imperative  that  the 
course  should  be  made  known. 

"Keep  the  damn  thing  in  the  middle  if  you 
can,"  the  captain  half  snored  and  sank  to 
slumber.  Then  the  timid  passenger  became 
— the  captain,  the  engineer  and  the  crew  until 
he  was  later  on  relieved. 

At  the  hour  of  the  Angelus,  Katie  Long, 
exhausted  and  worn,  pushed  herself  against 
the  fragile  pier  of  Rockyledge. 

The  proprietor — the  head  bellboy — all  the 
bellboys — the  cook,  the  clerk — the  hostler— 
the  porter  and  the  other  employees  of  the 
Inn — extended  a  welcome  to  the  newly  arrived 
guest. 

"I'm  Jim  Macey  and  run  this  hotel,  but 
'bout  here  they  call  me  Goggles.  Glad  to 
meet  you.  What  might  your  name  be?" 

The  soaked  mariners,  having  become  in- 

55 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

ternally  dry  once  more,  simultaneously 
shouted  "Hello,  Goggles."  A  hand  wave 
and  "Hello,  Boys,"  acknowledged  this  salu- 
tation. 

The  following  morning  the  landlord  was 
informed  by  his  only  guest  the  reason  why 
he  had  come  to  Rockyledge  Inn,  and  then 
was  asked  by  him  where  the  best  fishing 
could  be  found. 

Macey  suggested  a  river — not  far  away 
where  Rainbow  trout  abounded — that  might 
be  tried  first.  The  simple,  clearly  given  di- 
rections were  easy  to  follow.  The  Angler 
decided  to  give  this  place  a  trial. 

The  hike  proved  to  be  a  long  one  before  he 
heard  the  song  of  rushing  waters.  The  gleam 
of  an  ideal  stream,  seen  through  the  vistas, 
tingled  his  nerves  with  pleasurable  anticipa- 
tion. 

A  test  of  skill  followed  the  taking  of  an 
alluring  fly  by  a  leaping  Rainbow.  Unheeded 
were  both  time  and  locality.  The  daylight 
began  to  fade.  Once  more  upon  the  high- 
way, he  started,  as  he  supposed,  towards  the 
Inn. 

As  twilight  quivered  he  walked  persever- 
ingly  on  and  on.  The  road  seemed  to  have 
lengthened  since  the  morning's  jaunt. 

56 


WHERE  CHASMS  FROWN 

Approaching  him  he  discerned  a  young 
man,  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  years  of  age. 
He  carried  a  rifle  in  his  hands.  A  cartridge 
belt  encircled  his  waist.  A  haversack  was 
strapped  to  his  shoulders:  all  suggesting  that 
he  might  be  on  a  hunting  trip. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  me  how  far  it  is  to 
Rockyledge?"  the  Angler  inquired. 

"Why,  stranger,  you're  headed  wrong. 
Reckon  you  don't  know  these  parts.  Too 
late  to  get  there  to-night,  it  will  be  so  dark  in 
half  an  hour  you  couldn't  see  the  road.  Bet- 
ter let  me  put  you  up  'til  morning  and  then 
I'll  straighten  things  out." 

The  Angler  thanked  him  and  accepted. 
As  they  trudged  along  together  the  highway 
was  forsaken,  until  his  companion  took  the 
lead,  when  entering  into  the  mazes  of  a  thick 
grove. 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  take  a  bite, 
stranger?"  he  quietly  remarked,  as  he  stopped 
beneath  a  large  tree — dense  in  luxuriant  foli- 
age— placing  his  rifle  within  easy  reach  and 
opening  his  haversack. 

The  famished  Angler  replied  that  food 
would  be  most  acceptable.  Starting  a  fire, 
some  of  the  fish  were  quickly  cleaned  and 
broiled.  The  meal  satisfied  their  hunger. 

57 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Instead  of  continuing  the  tramp,  the 
younger  man  began  to  gather  grass  and  leaves 
out  of  which  he  constructed  a  rude  couch. 
As  he  finished,  turning  towards  his  compan- 
ion, he  remarked: 

"Stranger,  it  will  be  far  wiser  for  you  to 
know  the  truth.  This  grand  old  tree  that 
shelters  us  for  to-night  at  least  is  our  home. 
It's  like  this:  A  short  time  ago  I  killed  a  man. 
The  act  was  in  self-defense. 

"It  happened  far  away  from  here.  As  I 
had  no  proof  of  my  innocence,  I  thought  it 
wiser  to  disappear  for  a  time.  The  people  in 
the  neighborhood  knew  a  feud  existed  be- 
tween the  dead  man  and  myself. 

"Suspicion  will  fall  on  me.  Had  I  not 
fatally  winged  him  at  the  first  shot,  he  would 
have  killed  me.  Now  you  know  the  facts. 
Suppose  a  posse  has  started  hunting  for  my 
scalp,  it's  not  likely  they  can  find  me. 

"Wiser  though  not  to  be  caught  napping, 
so  I'm  careful.  You  lie  down  and  try  to  get 
a  wink  of  sleep.  If  you  hear  shots,  just  keep 
quiet,  for  even  if  they  did  find  you  no  harm 
would  come  of  it  and  I  should  have  made  a 
get-away  all  right.  Tell  'em  you  got  lost,  met 
a  chap  who  brought  you  here,  and  then  lit 
out.  Good-night. ' ' 

58 


WHERE  CHASMS  FROWN 

At  daybreak  they  retraced  their  steps  to 
the  highway.  At  parting,  the  fugitive  laugh- 
ingly commented,  "I  have  no  name  and  you 
never  met  me.  I  have  thoroughly  enjoyed 
your  companionship.  Good  luck  go  with 
you!" 

Goggles  had  started  to  find  the  Angler  and 
they  met  on  the  road.  "Where  in  Hell  have 
you  been?  I  thought  you  were  drowned/' 

The  bed  in  the  Angler's  room  looked  most 
inviting. 

The  Angler  wished  to  study  both  Salmon 
and  the  Rainbow  trout  in  their  native  waters. 
He  talked  matters  over  with  Macey. 

"So  you  want  more  of  it,  do  you?"  said 
Goggles.  "Well,  by  Jupiter!  You  have  the 
nerve.  I'll  take  you  to  just  the  right  spot. 
Wait  'til  I  hitch  up  old  Major  and  we'll  go 
along.  Won't  do  to  let  you  roam  'bout 
alone." 

The  road  along  the  edge  of  a  high  plateau 
was  rough  and  nearly  hidden  by  grass  growth. 
It  ran  towards  the  North  in  almost  a  straight 
line.  An  easily  forded,  broadened  brook 
crossed  the  highway.  They  halted  among  the 
mighty  trees  of  an  immense  grove.  A  deep 
ravine  made  an  abrupt  descent  of  nearly 

59 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

fifteen  hundred  feet  from  the  edge  of  this 
plateau  to  the  banks  of  a  stately  river. 

In  the  shadows  of  giant  cliffs,  its  waters 
were  of  indigo  hue  save  where  they  crashed 
against  huge  boulders  in  snowlike  froth. 

Such  wondrous  beauty  challenged  even  an 
inadequate  description.  A  strip  of  sandy 
shore  bordered  the  water's  edge,  providing 
an  excellent  spot  for  perfect  fly  casting. 

No  need  of  recording  the  methods  em- 
ployed in  undertaking  the  somewhat  hazard- 
ous descent. 

The  Angler  tarried,  securing  a  goodly 
number  of  fine  fish.  It  did  not  please  him  at 
all  to  have  Macey  shout  suddenly  and 
loudly: 

"By  Jinks!  there's  a  fellow  coming  to  see 
me  today;  I  forgot  all  about  it.  You  stay  as 
long  as  you  like.  The  big  pool  is  just  be- 
yond that  first  bend.  When  you're  ready 
old  Major  will  get  you  home  all  right. 

"I'll  take  a  short  cut  back.  Hope  you 
don't  mind  my  leaving  you?  So  long  and 
good  luck." 

The  Angler  was  startled  by  the  sound  of 

voices,  while  resting  for  a  while.     Half  a 

dozen  men  emerged  from  the  brush.    All  of 

them  carried  long  poles  with  a  spear-like  at- 

60 


WHERE  CHASMS  FROWN 

tachment.  He  ascertained  soon  that  they 
were  engineers,  surveying  for  a  railroad  cor- 
poration. All  were  graduates  of  Harvard. 

They  asked  him  to  join  them  spearing  sal- 
mon, if  he  cared  for  the  sport.  In  single  file 
a  sinuous  course  was  followed,  on  the  side  of 
the  largest  cliff  that  would  take  them  to  the 
great  pool. 

All  of  the  young  men  wore  spiked  shoes 
and  secured  good  footholds.  No  real  path 
existed.  The  Angler  followed  as  best  he 
could. 

Heavy  waters  poured  incessantly  over  a 
high,  broad,  natural  dam.  Both  salmon  and 
trout  lurked  below,  awaiting  their  chance  to 
leap  the  fall. 

Several  days  of  continued  torrid  weather 
had  caused  melting  snows  from  a  distant 
range  of  mountains  to  augment  the  volume 
of  water  in  the  river,  making  it  impossible  for 
the  salmon  to  leap  well  above  the  dam. 

The  strong  current  knocked  about  these 
fish  and  many  of  them  fell  back  again  into 
the  pool.  In  this  way  the  chance  opened  for 
spear  play  that  often  ended  in  a  kill. 

Although  greatly  interested,  the  Angler 
realized  that  he  could  tarry  no  longer. 
Shouting  a  good-bye  he  began  his  return 
61 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

journey,  but  suddenly  slipped  when  in  sight 
of  the  place  where  he  had  been  fishing. 

He  tried  to  save  himself.  It  was  in  vain. 
Towards  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  he  rolled 
over  and  over.  A  fair-sized  tree,  felled  by  a 
stroke  of  lightning,  saved  his  life  most  for- 
tunately. 

His  trousers  caught  on  a  branch,  tearing 
them  badly,  but  enabling  him  to  hold  on 
tightly  when  he  forcibly  struck  the  tree.  The 
rest  of  the  way  he  crawled  on  his  hands  and 
knees. 

On  his  way  homeward,  with  the  sky  as  a 
background,  three  sharply  defined  silhouettes 
held  his  attention.  Indians!  War  bonnets, 
war  paint,  rifles,  and  addenda.  The  Angler 
was  scared.  His  fears  were  without  founda- 
tion. 

They  passed  on  their  way  without  giving 
him  a  glance.  That  evening,  when  he  related 
the  incident,  Macey  told  him  that  once  in  a 
long  time  the  Indians  of  that  part  of  the 
country  had  a  war  dance  and  a  big  pow-wow. 

The  next  day  the  Angler  returned  to  Port- 
land, but  not  with  "Katie  Long." 


62 


Frolics  of  the  Silver  Kings 

Amid  the  mazes  of  the  Floridian  Ever- 
glades a  stream  has  its  source  that  forms  a 
river  when  augmented  very  gradually  by  ad- 
ditional waters  from  adjacent  swamps,  many 
of  these  being  of  immense  size. 

It  meanders  in  tortuous  windings  and  con- 
tortions along  its  banks  of  moss-draped, 
stunted  tree  growth,  or  through  lowlands  of 
barren  soils  and  scattered  sections  of  marshes. 

Mantles  of  luxurious  and  vividly  green 
lily  pads  hide  the  ugliness  of  its  sluggish, 
vacillating  progress.  As  the  sea  level  is 
finally  approached  its  pace  quickens,  espe- 
cially when  the  ebbing  tidal  waters  exert 
their  influence. 

A  high  embankment  has  been  formed  by 
the  powerful  rushing  strength  of  the  Ocean's 
billows  upon  an  immense  stretch  of  brightly 
gleaming  sands,  that  serves,  save  where  a 
breakage  occurs  when  salt  and  sweet  waters 
unite,  as  a  strong  sea  wall. 

A  mile  or  two  back  from  the  river's  mouth 

63 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

a  good-sized  lake  has  formed  in  a  natural, 
broadened  hollowing  out  of  the  soil. 

It  is  deep  in  some  places.  In  the  lake  it- 
self the  force  of  the  tides  is  felt  strongly,  but 
entirely  lost  above  the  point  where  the  river 
empties  into  the  brackish  waters  of  this  pe- 
culiarly freakish  distortion. 

The  adjacent  marshes  are  overflowed  when 
a  strong  flood  dominates. 

As  the  ebb  begins  and  rushes  again  sea- 
ward in  as  active  a  manner  as  marked  its  in- 
coming, the  amount  of  water  dwindles  per- 
ceptibly. 

While  at  Palm  Beach,  the  Angler  learned 
that  a  school  of  young  Tarpon — better  known 
as  Silver  Kings — had  been  seen  in  this  locality 
early  that  morning. 

Fort  Lauderdale,  a  trading  station  on  the 
river,  not  a  great  distance  from  Palm  Beach, 
was  the  most  available  starting  point. 

The  Angler  procured  a  skiflf  here  and  with 
his  guide  hurried  on  to  the  lake.  A  supply  of 
mullet  had  fortunately  been  obtained,  so 
there  was  no  delay. 

A  number  of  sportsmen,  their  boats  an- 
chored at  the  nearer  end  not  far  from  the 
opening,  were  in  waiting. 

Beneath  Southern  skies,  this  typical  day 

64 


FROLICS  OF  THE  SILVER  KINGS 

of  an  early  Spring  was  bathed  in  a  wealth  of 
burnished  sunshine,  whose  splendors  even 
tinged  the  soft,  mild  breezes  laden  with  odors 
of  the  Ocean. 

As  the  crimson  sun  blazed  down  upon  the 
tremulous  surface  of  the  loch  the  peaceful 
scene  in  an  instant  becomes  transformed. 

Lethargy  vanished,  replaced  by  the  mag- 
nificent active  play  of  silvered  forms  leaping 
high  in  the  air,  shaking  from  their  gleaming 
bodies  rainbowed  mists  as  by  hundreds,  in 
riotous  dashing,  jumping  and  diving,  their 
hosts  forsook  the  extreme  end  of  the  lake  and 
advanced  in  aeroplanic  formation,  seeking 
their  home  waters  once  more. 

Fountains  of  water  splashed  everywhere 
as  they  rushed  blindly  among  the  boats.  All 
of  them  became  frightened  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, dove  deeply,  and  whirled  through  the 
pass  into  the  river. 

Such  a  bewildering  and  marvelous  finale 
to  this  aquatic  gaiety  astonished  the  specta- 
tors beyond  the  power  of  expression.  The 
act  itself  and  the  actors  will  never  be  for- 
gotten. 

That  a  person  can  entirely  lose  self-control 
under  excitement  was  demonstrated  in  an 
amusing  incident. 

65 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

An  erratic  individual,  who  early  in  the  day 
had  forsaken  his  companions  and  gone  to  the 
other  end  of  the  lake,  gave  chase  when  the 
players  started  the  game,  hurling  his  bait 
after  them  and  madly  shouting: 

"Stop  them!  Stop  them!  For  GOD'S 
sake,  don't  let  'em  get  away!" 

The  Angler,  hoping  a  chance  might  still 
come  to  take  a  Tarpon,  remained  at  the  trad- 
ing post. 

When  the  moon  is  full,  and  only  the  moon, 
it  is  a  most  excellent  time  for  night  fishing. 

A  motor  boat  was  commissioned,  the  skiff 
attached,  and  the  first  moonlight  excursion 
made  its  debut. 

The  skipper  had  mentioned  that  blue  fish 
very  frequently  came  into  the  lower  part  of 
the  river  on  a  floodtide;  so  a  wide-awake 
Angler,  while  on  their  seaward  way,  trolled 
for  them,  using  a  hand  line  and  a  fair-sized 
metal  fish. 

Even  the  man  in  the  moon  laughed  at  Na- 
ture's moving  picture  of  two  instantaneous 
leaps  (exquisitely  shown,  although  Mr.  Fox 
was  not  present  at  the  time). 

A  splendid  Tarpon  threw  himself  entirely 
out  of  the  water,  at  the  hook  end  of  the  line, 
then  shaking  himself  free  disappeared  into  the 
66 


FROLICS  OF  THE  SILVER  KINGS 

glorified  wavelets  of  the  moonbeam's  path- 
way. 

The  Angler  had  perched  himself  upon  the 
part  of  the  deck  that  projected  into  the  cock- 
pit and  given  the  line  two  extra  twists  about 
his  hand.  The  leap  he  made  landed  him 
squarely  on  the  astonished  skipper's  head. 

The  metal  fish  had  split  in  twain,  twisted 
into  distorted  curlings.  For  many  days  a 
swollen  and  bruised  hand  required  the  An- 
gler's attention. 

He  felt  intimately  acquainted  with  this 
paterfamilias,,  although  unable  to  even  catch 
sight  of  him. 


Sulking  Samsons 

A  piscatory  pibroch  must  have  drowned 
the  pastor's  voice  when  the  Togue  was 
christened,  or  a  bunch  of  names  sticking  like 
prickly  burrs  were  hurled  pell-mell  at  him. 

He  is  the  same  old  Togue  whether  or  not 
his  aliases  be  Namaycush,  Lake  Trout,  Lunge 
Siskowitz,  Lake  Salmon,  Salmon,  Trout, 
Mackinaw  Trout,  Fresh  Water  Cod,  Black 
Trout,  Pot  Belly,  the  Tyrant  of  the  Lake,  or 
any  of  the  others. 

He  eats  well,  sleeps  well,  and  attains  re- 
markable weight.  Like  the  Brook  Trout  he 
has  spots  on  his  body,  but  they  lack  in  bril- 
liancy of  coloring.  If  an  angler  informs  you 
he  has  caught  a  twelve-pound  trout,  that 
trout  is  a  Togue. 

These  fish  become  very  active  soon  after 
the  ice  goes  out  in  early  Spring,  and  will  take 
a  trolling  lure  quite  near  the  shore.  As  the 
weather  grows  warmer  they  seek  deeper 
waters  and  become  sluggish  in  action. 

The  best  that  can  be  said  of  this  moody, 
powerful  fish  is  that  he  is  excellent  eating, 
68 


SULKING  SAMSONS 

when  cooked  properly.  The  worst,  he  never 
rises  to  a  fly. 

Of  all  baits  the  most  alluring  is  a  fair-sized 
minnow,  so  impaled  on  an  Archer  spinner 
or  two  hooks,  that  on  a  swiveled  leader  it 
revolves  well.  A  small  sinker  should  be  at- 
tached to  the  line  when  the  water  is  quite  deep. 

Seth  Green  tied  a  sinker  to  a  piece  of  string 
and  the  string  to  the  line,  just  above  the 
leader — a  most  excellent  and  clever  rig.  If 
the  sinker  catches  among  the  rocks,  a  pull 
breaks  the  string  and  saves  the  tackle.  The 
sinker  keeps  touching  bottom  but  always  al- 
lows a  good  length  of  free  line. 

A  few  hints  may  not  be  amiss  to  those  of 
you  who  have  not  attempted  the  capture  of 
these  voracious,  vicious  villains. 

When  a  sharp  tug  is  felt,  give  plenty  of 
time,  for  Many  Names  likes  to  chew  a  bit  be- 
fore he  swallows.  When  you  strike  make  it 
hard  and  strong.  He  will  make  a  long  run 
when  well  hooked,  so  let  him  go  as  far  as  he 
likes. 

He  will  halt,  sulk,  pull  back  and  grunt, 
shaking  his  old  head  and  begins  to  get  mad 
as  you  reel  in.  Then  he  makes  another  run 
and  sulks  some  more.  He  keeps  up  this 
sort  of  thing  until  he  is  tired  out. 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Always  remember  never  to  give  him  any 
slack.  When  he  sulks,  keep  the  line  taut,  but 
do  not  try  to  reel  in  by  force,  for  he  is  heavy 
and  powerful,  and  will  break  the  line  easily 
if  too  much  strength  is  used. 

Hooks  should  be  large  and  of  good  mate- 
rial. Big  spoons,  baited,  spoons  with  the 
largest  flies,  or  hooks  with  pieces  of  pork  or 
pork  rind,  worms,  fish,  and  raw  meat  make 
excellent  lures. 

Troll  in  rather  deep  water  near  ledges  or 

rocky  shores. 

*     *     *     * 

Once  upon  a  time  the  Angler  played  the 
goat  to  perfection. 

While  at  a  camp  in  Maine,  where  the  fish- 
ing was  excellent,  a  friend  told  him  that  in 
the  neighborhood  there  was  a  lake  abounding 
with  Togue.  Being  an  ardent  fly  caster  he 
never  had  even  tried  for  them,  and  was  anx- 
ious to  ascertain  what  they  were  like.  His 
friend  insisted  that  he  should  borrow  his 
tackle. 

The  rod  was  as  heavy  as  one  used  for  sal- 
mon but  shorter.  The  reel  looked  huge  and 
held  a  lot  of  line.  The  arrangement  of  hooks 
was  wild  and  weird,  but  considered  neces- 
sary. 

70 


SULKING  SAMSONS 

Explaining  that  these  fish  were  strong  and 
of  tremendous  size,  he  warned  the  Angler 
that  plenty  of  time  should  be  given  them  to 
take  the  baits  well  into  their  mouths. 

The  entire  line  might  be  taken  in  a  rush 
and  one  had  to  be  extremely  careful. 

The  Angler  began  to  get  a  little  worried. 
He  had  never  seen  such  an  equipment  and 
never  knew  that  such  fish  were  to  be  found  in 
sweet  waters. 

The  stuff  was  packed  and  a  hike  made  to 
this  lake.  It  was  a  delightful  tramp.  A 
rough  cabin  was  found  near  the  shore  that 
would  shelter  them.  No  time  was  wasted  in 
getting  started. 

They  paddled  along  quite  a  distance  with- 
out having  a  strike.  Suddenly  the  Angler 
felt  a  strong  yank  and  the  line  began  to  run 
out  very  rapidly.  He  struck  and  struck 
sharply;  the  line  ran  faster  and  faster. 

"He  tarn  beeg  chap/'  the  guide  murmured. 
No  comment  was  made  on  his  part,  for  he 
was  both  busy  and  scared.  Not  a  sign  of  a 
fin,  yet  the  line  kept  running  fiercely  and  then 
howled.  Seeing  it  had  almost  run  out  he 
asked  the  guide  to  cease  paddling.  The  mo- 
ment the  strain  lessened  the  Angler  reeled 
and  reeled  and  then  reeled  some  more.  The 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

strike  had  been  sure.  The  body  of  the  victim 
bristled  with  every  one  of  the  hooks. 

A  miserable  old  Log! 

The  Angler  returned  to  camp,  did  some 
thinking,  strung  up  an  ordinary  rod  and  se- 
lected a  trolling  lure.  His  fears  had  vanished. 

Later  on  he  took  two  fish  without  any 
trouble  at  all  and  the  next  day  caught  half 
a  dozen.  This  ended  his  enchantment. 


72 


The  Togue's  Remarks 

I  am  stubborn,  I  am  sulky, 

But  my  appetite  is  good; 
So  Fm  underweight  but  seldom, 

Though  I'm  rarely  understood. 
For  my  moods,  they  differ  greatly: 

In  the  summer  I  am  still; 
While,  in  early  days  of  springtime, 

My  emotions  make  me  thrill. 
At  my  jumping  Fm  a  stunner, 

And  no  angler  can  seduce, 
Till  I  get  right  good  and  ready, 

When — I  often  slip  a-loose. 
For  I  know  a  thing  in  rushing, 

When  I  wish  to  let  off  steam, 
Fm  a  wonder;  yes,  by  thunder, 

Fm  a  college  football  team. 
Yes,  I  know  a  thing  in  rushing, 

Know  just  how  to  break  a  line; 
And  for  clinging  to  live  bait,  sir, 

Who  can  match  the  knack  that's  mine? 
So  I  often  fool  those  "Waltons," 

As  they  think  they  have  me  sure, 
When  Fm  simply,  of  a  rumpus, 

Playing  soft  my  overture. 

73 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

Some  day,  may  be  born  a  sportsman 

Who  at  once  will  know  my  game, 
Beat  me  always;  and  moreover, 

When,  alas!  at  last,  I'm  tame, 
Being  weighed  out  dead,  that  Villain — 

Oh!  the  shadow  of  the  shame! 
Oh;  sad  gloaming  of  my  glory! — 

Then  may  even  change  my  name; 
Or  may  tell  his  friends  a  fable 

How  he  caught  me  "on  the  fly;" 
But  I  now,  a  simple  laker, 

In  advance  that  boast  deny; 
And  if  he  would  only  meet  me, 

Face  to  face,  in  water,  why 
I  would  give  him  in  his  gullet, 

Deep  as  to  his  lungs,  the  lie! 
Not  with  flies  am  I  caught  often; 

Reason  why,  I'm  far  too  "fly." 


74 


Artful  Antagonists 

The  creel  of  a  well  remembered  day  had 
been  a  superb  one.  Whether  pride  should 
have  filled  the  Angler's  soul  or  shame  o'er- 
come  him  is  a  question  far  better  perhaps  to 
place  the  simple  facts  before  you  and  leave 
this  matter  for  your  decision. 

An  old  friend  of  his,  Ned  by  name,  ob- 
tained possession  of  a  comfortable  little  cabin 
near  the  Wilson  Lakes  in  Maine.  He  had 
kindly  granted  its  use  to  the  Angler  when- 
ever he  might  care  to  try  the  fishing  in  this 
section  of  the  country. 

Late  in  the  month  of  June  all  arrangements 
were  completed.  Two  good,  true  sportsmen 
and  himself  packed  their  kits  and  started  for 
camp. 

The  guides  were  waiting  at  the  station,  and 
as  the  day  was  yet  young  it  was  decided  to 
fish  a  little  and  stop  at  some  convenient 
place  on  the  way  to  camp  for  luncheon. 

The  Angler's  particular  guardian  was  one 
Herman,  by  name,  a  native  of  a  nearby  town. 
He  was  long-drawn-out,  bow-legged  and  glo- 
rified with  an  abundance  of  hair  of  a  brick- 

75 


.REMINISCENT  TALES 

dust  sheen.  His  eyes  "sot"  in  their  expres- 
sion were  small,  bright,  and  blue  in  color. 

Before  the  parting  came  repeated  demon- 
strations on  his  part  conclusively  proved  that 
this  human  totem  pole  could  do  three  things 
remarkably  well.  First — He  made  most  ex- 
cellent coffee.  Secondly — He  held  an  entire 
and  very  hot  potato  in  his  mouth  and  con- 
versed in  his  usual  piquant  manner  at  the 
same  time.  Thirdly — He  never  failed  to 
back  a  boat  in  the  direction  of  a  striking  fish, 
thereby  kindly  giving  this  dweller  of  the  deep 
plenty  of  slack  line  and  an  opportunity  to 
shake  for  freedom. 

For  this  specimen  of  a  man,  'hatred  began 
to  surge  in  the  Angler's  blood  and  become  so 
strong  that  even  murder  seemed  justifiable. 

Camp  was  made  at  last.  Herman  had  to 
return  for  most  of  the  supplies.  Hours 
slipped  by.  He  made  his  appearance  finally. 
However,  he  managed  to  run  the  canoe  on 
top  of  a  rock  and  upset  before  reaching  the 
landing. 

Off  came  the  cover  of  a  box  of  Seidlitz 
powders,  instantly  followed  by  a  churning  of 
the  waters  into  seething  foam  in  the  immedi- 
ate vicinity.  A  pail  of  butter  sank  deeply  into 
the  muddy  bottom  of  the  lake  and  never  was 
76 


ARTFUL  ANTAGONISTS 

found.  The  eggs  tangoed  away  and  every- 
thing else  became  beastly  wet  and  mussed  up. 

This  dress-rehearsal  was  enough;  Herman 
was  told  to  saw  wood  and  tend  camp.  For- 
tunately the  Angler  sent  'cross  country  for 
Joe,  his  beloved  half-breed,  who  knew  things 
and  knew  them  well.  He  came  quickly  and 
then  Herman  was  almost  forgiven. 

It  had  been  stated  that  trout  of  good  size 
had  been  caught  in  certain  places  of  the  lake. 
These  places  were  most  faithfully  tried  out 
but  with  indifferent  success.  At  the  lower 
end  of  the  larger  lake  a  high,  precipitous  cliff 
gave  every  evidence  of  furnishing  an  ideal 
hiding  spot  for  the  larger  specimens  of  these 
speckled  beauties  in  the  markedly  deep 
waters  bathing  its  base. 

A  number  of  dead  landlocked  smelts  solved 
the  riddle  of  such  poor  fishing.  Theoreti- 
cally, splendid  fish  should  own  property  who 
lived  in  such  an  exclusive  neighborhood  as  a 
haunt  of  this  description  seemed  to  warrant. 

The  Angler  firmly  believed  this  to  be  the 
case  if  only  proper  lures  could  be  chosen, 
and  the  right  method  hit  upon  to  tempt  the 
finny  citizens  into  rising. 

Joe  was  told  to  get  up  very  early  in  the 
morning  and  paddle  about  near  the  cliff.  If 

77 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

he  saw  a  fin  then  at  once  inform  the  Angler. 
He  did  as  requested  and  awoke  him  at  sun- 
rise. 

"I  see  de  big  fin  near  cliff  so  den  we  mak  a 
ketch  much/'  was  his  report. 

"All  right,  Lad;  get  things  ready;  we'll  take 
a  bite  and  try  our  luck,"  came  the  reply. 

Everything  must  be  in  readiness  if  the  fish 
were  to  be  aroused  and  enticed  near  the  sur- 
face. A  good  fly  rod  was  selected. 

A  Parmachenee  Belle  and  a  Brown  Hackle 
on  a  strong  leader  chosen,  then  the  rod 
placed  in  the  canoe. 

The  lures  must  be  uncommon  ones  in  order 
to  stir  up  the  stubborn  chaps.  There  were 
two  Burtis's  rods  out  for  this  trial. 

Both  had  swiveled  leaders,  two  flies  and 
tail  hooks  baited  with  small  minnows. 

The  morning  was  misty,  rainy  and  cold 
enough  to  make  a  heavy  overcoat  a  welcome 
burden.  A  keen,  stiff  blow  swept  in  from  all 
quarters,  and  with  occasional  sharper  squalls 
made  the  guidance  of  the  canoe  a  very  diffi- 
cult task. 

The  Angler  held  a  rod  in  each  hand.  Joe 
circled  the  canoe.  No  strikes  at  all.  More 
line  was  payed  out,  more  circling,  gave  the 
same  result.  Evidently  the  plausible  de- 

78 


ARTFUL  ANTAGONISTS 

ductions  were  utterly  wrong.  Utter  disap- 
pointment added  its  chill  to  that  of  the  at- 
mosphere. One  last  try  and  then  if  no  luck 
— back  to  camp. 

The  other  fellows,  disgusted  with  the  poor 
fishing  and  doubting  greatly  the  opinion  of 
the  Angler,  had  gone  to  another  lake  quite  a 
distance  away. 

Both  lines  were  then  reeled  in  and  small 
sinkers  fastened  about  a  foot  above  the  lead- 
ers. Joe  paddled  very  slowly,  thus  allowing 
good  lengths  of  line  to  slip  from  the  reels. 

Then  sudden  vicious  and  powerful  strikes 
came  on  either  side.  Deadly  earnest  ones, 
allowing  no  time  to  give  the  butts  or  the  rods 
to  be  held  securely. 

When  the  lines  were  reeled  in  a  little  way 
they  sped  again,  bringing  courage  and  joy 
from  the  music  of  the  reels. 

The  Angler  never  realized  before  that  fish 
could  pull  so  hard  or  travel  so  fast.  They 
pulled  the  canoe  into  deeper  water,  making 
it  hard  battling  to  gain  a  lee  shore  again. 

Joe  had  all  he  could  do;  and  as  for  the  An- 
gler he  had  more  than  enough:  somehow  that 
heavy  overcoat  grew  heavier  and  warmer 
each  moment.  It  seemed  hours  before  a  fish 
showed  the  slightest  sign  of  losing  strength. 

79 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

The  strain  lessened  at  last  and  they  could 
be  seen  turning  on  their  sides.  Why  the  lines 
did  not  cross  or  the  fish  remain  hooked — 
instead  of  breaking  away — never  will  be 
known,  but  up  to  date  luck  lingered. 

The  Angler  had  an  impression  that  it  was 
nearly  a  year  before  Joe  could  lend  his  aid 
and  the  prize  winners  brought  nearer  the 
canoe. 

First,  the  right-hand  rod  received  their 
united  efforts.  Three  magnificent  square- 
tails,  appearing  well  nigh  exhausted,  were 
plainly  visible. 

The  Angler  secured  one,  Joe  another; 
meantime  the  middle  fish  shook  himself  free. 

The  other  rod  became  easier  to  handle. 
Another  trio  of  fish  just  as  big  as  their  re- 
lations. All  of  them  ought  to  have  been 
landed,  but  the  tail-ender  bumped  against 
the  canoe  and  vanished. 

The  sensations  of  cold  and  weariness  van- 
ished also.  The  net  would  not  hold  but  two 
out  of  the  four  vanquished  warriors.  Their 
weight  ranged  from  four  and  a  half  to  a  little 
over  six  pounds.  Of  course — the  two  clever 
truants  who  rejoined  their  loved  ones  were 
the  biggest  of  them  all. 

This  battle  was  an  unusual  and  exciting 
80 


ARTFUL  ANTAGONISTS 

one.  Six  powerful  fish,  even  if  handled  well, 
offer  quite  a  task.  The  day  passed  without 
a  chance  given  to  use  the  fly  rod;  nevertheless 
the  Angler  was  perfectly  satisfied.  His 
theory  had  proven  itself  to  be  true. 

The  fish  were  outlined  on  birch  bark  and 
later  done  in  pastels,  for  a  like  experience 
might  never  come  again,  and  some  record  of  it 
would  always  be  valuable. 

His  companions  had  returned  to  camp  and 
extended  their  heartfelt  congratulations. 
The  next  day  all  of  them  left  for  home. 

An  assembly  of  dead  soldiers  on  the  porch 
obstructed  the  view.  They  deserved  a  de- 
cent burial,  having  died  in  a  just  cause. 

Herman  was  chosen  to  officiate,  receiving 
two  new  and  perfectly  good  dollar  bills  in 
advance. 

Mrs.  Ned  was  somewhat  of  a  crank  on  the 
temperance  question,  and  when  the  family 
arrived  the  brave  and  gallant  knights  held 
the  porch,  evidently  oblivious  of  her  opinions. 

The  cabin  was  never  offered  again  to  the 
Angler.  That  awful  Herman  had  gone  to 
town,  exchanged  the  two  dollars  for  vile 
spirits,  and  then  joined  a  lumber  crew. 

CURSES  ON  His  HEAD! 
81 


A  Wish  As  Twilight  Falls 

Where  once  the  fairy- folk  were  wont  to 
weave  by  magic  arts  an  unseen  web  about 
their  citadel  of  delights,  a  tiny  isle,  the  gem 
of  all  within  enchantment's  realm,  doth  even 
at  this  day  yield  evidence  that  Mother  Earth 
did  gladly  grant  each  wish  of  every  sprite, 
when  touched  by  wands  of  gold. 

Amid  the  snow-clad  hills  gushed  forth 
crystal  waters,  tumbling  in  their  new-born 
freedom,  wafted  on  the  zephyrs,  whispers 
from  forest  and  meadow  called  and  joyously 
they  leaped  in  sparkling  foam,  eager  to  give 
greeting. 

Down  the  lonely  hillside  the  brooklet  in 
its  purity  wavered.  Splashing  in  uncer- 
tainty, then  gliding  onward.  Through  the 
lowlands  it  meandered,  twining  in  serpen- 
tine coiling,  its  waters  resting  in  soft,  peaceful 
flowing  'mid  banks  bedecked  with  waving 
grasses. 

Flowerettes  of  loveliness  sprang  into  life 
from  its  very  breath  and  in  thankfulness  ex- 
haled exquisite  perfumes.  Bending  bush  and 
82 


A  WISH  AS  TWILIGHT  FALLS 

dainty  fern  gave  welcome  as  the  refreshing 
waters  invaded  their  hiding  places. 

From  the  summits  of  adjacent  highlands 
other  rollicking  wanderers  sought  compan- 
ionship until,  broadly  expanding,  the  might- 
ier brook  became  more  sedate  and  dignified 
as  toward  Neptunian  domains  its  course  con- 
tinued. Gigantic  and  stern  sentinels  of 
granite  frowned  down  their  displeasure,  dis- 
puting the  right  of  way. 

The  crystal  tide  flowed  on.  Aroused  to 
action,  in  liquid  mirth  it  divided  equally  its 
hosts,  spreading  on  either  side  of  the  grim 
watchers'  open,  encircling  arms  and  then, 
clasping  again,  held  in  its  embrace  the  en- 
chanted isle. 

The  smiling  rainbow  and  the  sunset  gave 
its  hue;  fleecy  clouds  and  stars  of  Heaven 
mirrored  their  gleams  and  shadows  as  token 
of  their  approval  of  what  the  gentle  stream 
had  done.  As  wild  rose  petals  fold  in  sleep, 
so  fell  the  purple  mantle  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

Restless  feathered  songsters  invaded  this 
realm  and  the  wee  people  bade  them  stay, 
lest  the  harmonies  of  woodland  lack  perfec- 
tion in  their  absence. 

Years  and  years  have  passed  into  eternity 
since  the  fairies  with  their  retinue  of  gnomes 

83 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

and  nymphs  have  disappeared,  but  complete 
and  perfect  their  handiwork  remains.  As  a 
parting  gift  they  bequeathed  to  mortals  this 
mystic  masterpiece.  The  hour  that  now  is 
striking  beholds  their  treasure  gems  as  ra- 
diant as  had  been  their  wont  in  days  of  yore. 

The  fays  themselves  and  their  magic  castle 
ne'er  were  seen  by  human  eye,  but  one  who 
came  and  understood  erected  a  humble  shel- 
ter. With  him  peace  lingers,  an  honored 
guest. 

His  wish  of  the  twilight  hour  is  that,  when 
life's  troubled  waters  close  about  him,  he 
may  sink  into  eternal  sleep  on  his  dearly  be- 
loved isle,  where  the  whispering  breeze  sighs 
its  lullaby  and  wild  roses — still  the  flowers  of 
fairyland — bloom. 


When  Storms  Raged 

Far  away  in  the  Maine  woods  there's  an 
old  deserted  logging  road:  it  is  first  seen 
starting  from  the  water's  edge  of  a  magnifi- 
cent lake,  then  skirting  the  hillside  in  crooked 
bendings  disappears  from  view. 

This  was  the  pathway  taken  early  in  the 
morning  of  a  brilliant  July  day  by  the  Angler 
and  his  Indian  guide.  The  guide  carried  the 
canoe  and  the  paddles.  The  Angler,  strung 
about  with  cooking  utensils,  followed.  The 
rods  tied  together  he  held  in  one  hand;  the 
grub  pail  was  firmly  grasped  in  the  other. 

The  climb  was  an  arduous  one,  but  when 
the  summit  was  gained  the  reward  caused 
weariness  to  be  forgotten.  Such  a  dainty, 
laughing,  sparkling  bit  of  water  met  the  gaze 
that  its  existence  might  be  doubted  for  a 
moment. 

The  canoe  being  launched,  it  was  paddled 
slowly  along  the  shore.  At  intervals  good 
sized  trout  were  taken  and  they  fought  well. 
Then  it  began  to  grow  dark  without  almost 
any  warning.  A  thunderstorm  appeared  to  be 
near  at  hand.  Curiously,  while  it  was  not 

85 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

at  all  cold,  it  began  to  snow  and  snow  hard 
instead  of  raining. 

The  trout  lost  interest  in  the  flies.  A 
Sproat  hook  No.  8  being  substituted  was 
baited  with  a  small  piece  of  the  throat  of  a 
fish  taken  earlier.  Two  boulders  of  good 
size  marked  an  excellent  fishing  locality,  the 
first  fish  having  been  taken  near  them. 

The  first  cast  was  followed  by  a  sharp 
strike  at  this  fish  bait.  Again  and  again  the 
canoe  circled.  Each  turn  brought  fine  fish. 
Quite  a  large  party  of  fishermen  were  in  camp 
where  the  Angler  had  his  headquarters,  so 
he  fished  carefully  until  a  sufficient  number 
had  been  secured  that  would  satisfy  all  needs. 

All  the  time  the  snow  fell  thick  and  fast. 
As  suddenly  as  it  had  begun  so  the  storm 
ceased,  and  a  brilliant  sun  blazed  forth  a 
greeting. 

The  way  back  to  the  landing  was  equally 
as  steep  as  the  upward  ascent  had  been  in 
the  morning.  Securely  wrapped  into  a  com- 
pact bundle,  the  fish  were  strapped  to  the 
Angler's  back.  A  strap  was  then  fastened 
about  his  forehead  and  attached  to  this 
bundle,  his  guide  telling  him  it  was  the  In- 
dian fashion  and  perfectly  correct. 

He  may  have  been  right.  The  Angler 
86 


WHEN  STORMS  RAGED 

vividly  remembers  that  when  once  well 
started  he  could  not  stop  and  that  the  trip 
was  made  remarkably  quick.  He  fell  in  a 
heap  at  the  landing  and  gazed  at  the  sky  for 
a  long  time. 

He  really  believes  that  during  this  run  his 
head  and  neck  were  lost  and  only  knew  he 
had  the  fish,  for  the  bundle  was  lying  on  the 
ground  beside  him.  After  some  time  the 
vanished  head  and  neck  pieces  returned  and 
resumed  rightful  positions. 

The  indisputable  proof — he  was  smoking 
when  the  guide  did  appear:  The  guide 
grunted  a  compliment  regarding  his  ability 
to  make  fast  time  and  he  entered  into  no 
argument  at  all  concerning  the  subject. 

Everyone  had  enough  trout  to  eat  at  camp. 
The  creel  was  not  questioned,  but  the  hard 
snow-storm  was  not  swallowed  as  readily 

as  the  trout. 

*     *     *     # 

It  is  a  general  belief  that  during  a  thunder- 
storm fish,  particularly  trout,  rarely  if  ever 
take  a  lure. 

Three  sportsmen  and  the  Humble  Angler 
accompanied  by  a  photographer  were  far 
away  in  the  wilds  of  New  Brunswick,  the 
prime  object  of  such  a  trip  being  the  possi- 

8? 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

bility  of  securing  moving  pictures  of  salmon 
fishing  and  camp  scenes,  to  be  shown  at  the 
Sportsman's  show  later  on. 

The  weather  had  been  unbearably  hot  for 
nearly  an  entire  week.  It  looked  like  rain  on 
the  day  when  the  return  trip  began  and  camp 
broken.  The  skies  were  overcast. 

At  noon  they  halted  for  lunch  and  a  rest. 
The  provisions  were  nearly  exhausted.  A 
small  stream  quite  near  the  roadway  looked 
promising  for  a  mess  of  trout. 

It  slightly  rained  and  began  to  blow.  The 
horses  were  unhitched  and  tied  to  trees.  The 
canvas  kits  were  made  secure  underneath  the 
wagon  so  that  they  might  keep  dry,  and  none 
too  soon. 

The  storm  burst  and  became  a  furious 
tempest.  Every  one  of  them  was  drenched 
to  the  skin  in  quick  time  and  could  get  no 
wetter. 

Despite  the  wind,  terrific  lightning  and 
downpour  the  Angler  and  one  of  the  party 
started  for  the  stream.  A  small  pool  was 
found  that  was  fairly  well  protected  by  heavy 
tree  growth. 

Here,  just  out  of  the  full  of  the  squall,  the 
Angler  \yas  able  to  cast  a  few  times  and 
caught  several  trout. 

88 


WHEN  STORMS  RAGED 

Under  such  circumstances  and  knowing 
his  companion  to  be  a  novice  at  fly  casting, 
he  removed  the  leader  and  tied  on  a  baited 
hook  before  handing  his  rod  to  him.  He  then 
told  him  to  toss  it  gently  into  the  pool. 

The  piece  of  a  throat  bait  proved  an  en- 
ticing lure.  His  pupil  caught  enough  of  the 
speckled  beauties  to  make  a  good  meal  for 
all  of  them. 

The  storm  still  raged  on,  but  most  fortu- 
nately one  of  the  guides  discovered  a  camp, 
where  they  had  an  opportunity  to  change 
their  clothes,  dry  their  wet  duds  and  cook 
the  fish. 

Besides  proving  conclusively  that  the  old 
belief  did  not  hold  true  at  all  times  and 
places,  they  had  a  very  jolly  time  and  did  not 
mind  getting  damp  once  more  before  they 
made  the  village. 


Above  and  Below 

The  St.  Croix  River  flows  between  St. 
Stephens,  Canada,  and  Calais,  Maine. 
Thrown  across  the  stream  from  the  mill 
properties  there  is  a  staunch  and  well  con- 
structed dam. 

Within  the  huge  mills,  on  the  English  side, 
the  relentless  jaws  of  mechanical  demons 
seize  and  devour  thousands  and  thousands 
of  royal  logs,  once  kings  of  the  forest. 

As  each  victim  is  fashioned  into  proper 
shape  for  building  purposes  the  cruel  wheels 
shriek  their  joy. 

Like  snowflakes  of  the  storm,  saw-dust  in 
whirring  showers  fill  the  air  and  falling  into 
the  waters  impart  to  them  the  tinge  of  their 
own  lifeblood. 

In  its  obscured,  smoothed  pathway  of  prog- 
ress, this  silent  stream  smashes  into  rapids 
in  the  basin  below,  as  rolling  in  unbroken 
volume  over  the  dam  it  pours  its  sheet  of 
waters. 

Beyond  the  ceaseless  din  of  saw  and  log, 
quite  far  above  the  dam — barrels  and  barrels 
of  choice  vintages — hogsheads,  casks,  and 
90 


ABOVE  AND  BELOW 

cases  of  the  elixir  of  life  were  huddled  to- 
gether in  the  extremely  damp  cellars  of  dingy 
warehouses  on  the  Canadian  banks  of  the 
old  St.  Croix. 

These  weighted  and  sunken  submarine 
hosts  were  placed  in  readiness  to  be  trans- 
ported at  night  to  American  soil. 

The  various  rope  ends  remaining  after  each 
carrier  had  been  securely  bound,  were  to  be 
found  in  similar  and  just  as  wet  cellars  of 
Yankeeland,  just  'cross  the  way — strange 
though  it  might  have  been. 

A  change  of  location — that's  all — but  a 
demonstrable  change.  In  those  days  of  se- 
lective sobriety  the  most  ardent  dipsomaniac 
could  obtain  enough  unadulterated  liquid 
delight  to  ensure  absolute  satisfaction. 

In  the  playground  that  the  river  pro- 
vided— below  the  dam — each  year  the  Silver 
Horde  rested  for  a  brief  time.  They  were 
splendid  Salmon  too,  and  as  valiant  in  battle 
as  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  in  days 
of  long  ago. 

Diplomatically  speaking,  these  soldiers  of 
fortune  were  absolutely  nonpartisan,  show- 
ing no  partiality  for  either  side. 

America  and  England  divided  equally  the 
honor  of  entertaining  them  as  their  guests. 

91 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

When  Al.  French  was  the  game  warden  at 
Calais,  he  urged  the  Humble  Angler  most 
cordially  to  visit  him  and  try  the  Salmon 
fishing.  The  Angler  accepted  and  at  the 
earliest  possible  hour  arrived  in  Calais. 
French  was  an  excellent  fisherman  and 
guide. 

The  pools  in  this  river  are  the  quiet  places 
just  back  of  goodly  sized  rocks  that  jut  their 
heads  above  the  surface. 

Before  noon  of  the  next  day  the  Angler 
had  made  a  kill  of  two  splendid  Salmon.  A 
third  struck,  but  before  he  was  ready  for  the 
gaff  the  bite  of  the  line  caught  on  a  long  spike 
driven  through  the  center  of  a  piece  of  timber 
that  had  floated  directly  on  the  line,  thus 
giving  him  a  chance  to  leap  and  break  away. 
While  ornamental,  the  Silver  Doctor  was  not 
to  his  liking. 

It  is  considered  most  excellent  luck  to 
take  two  Salmon  within  a  few  hours.  The 
news  of  this  catch  spread  rapidly  among  the 
townfolk  of  Calais.  The  Angler  had  been 
noticed  by  many  people,  en  route  to  a  studio 
where  his  trophies  were  to  be  photographed. 

That  afternoon  later  on,  French  and  him- 
self sought  the  river  again.  This  time  an- 
other skiff  was  anchored  quite  a  little  dis- 
92 


ABOVE  AND  BELOW 

tance  below  them.  Another  sportsman 
wished  to  try  his  luck;  he  had  a  guide  with 
him.  It  was  difficult  to  hear  pla:nly  on  ac- 
count of  the  racket  that  the  river  makes  and 
the  noise  that  the  mills  throw  to  the  winds. 

The  Angler  had  made  a  long  cast.  Very 
suddenly  the  skiff  of  the  new  comer  over- 
turned and  both  of  its  occupants  were  thrown 
into  the  river.  At  this  moment  the  Angler 
struck  a  fish — as  he  supposed — his  line  began 
to  run  out  rapidly.  No  leap  of  a  fish  came; 
yet  he  felt  the  heavy  tug  of  something  strange 
and  weighty. 

The  floundering  fisherman  appeared  to  be 
splashing  about  in  a  strenuous  and  un- 
necessary manner.  Evidently  he  was  try- 
ing to  yell  important  information,  but  only 
a  cuss  word  could  be  distinguished  now 
and  then.  French  sensed  that  something 
must  be  radically  wrong  and  asked  the  An- 
gler to  stop  fishing  and  to  reel  in  as  fast  as 
he  could.  Meantime  he  cast  the  skiff  free. 
The  Angler  did  the  best  he  could  to  follow 
instructions. 

The  profane  gentleman  had  succeeded  in 
reaching  a  rock,  where  he  was  deeply  engaged 
in  performing  a  minor  surgical  operation  on 
his  trousers  and  eclipsing  any  sailor  or  par- 

93 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

rot  that  ever  lived  in  his  vocabulary  of  aptly 
chosen  swear  words. 

While  the  porpoise  act  exhibition  held  the 
stage  a  "popham"  fly  had  floated  near  and 
embedded  itself  in  his  trousers.  The  Angler 
had  struck  hard  and  securely.  Apologies 
were  exchanged,  explanations  made,  and 
peace  returned  even  to  the  troubled  waters. 
The  fishing  ended. 

The  next  morning  a  local  paper  contained 
a  bright  article  concerning  this  incident  and 
stated  the  weight  of  this  HE  fish  to  be  187 
pounds. 

ABOVE  the  dam,  a  smuggler  was  caught — 
now  and  then. 

BELOW  the  dam,  many  a  fine  salmon  was 
killed — now  and  then. 

Gone  are  the  salmon. 
Gone  the  good  booze. 

The  old  St.  Croix — sedately  flows  on  and 
on. 


94 


Surprises 

Newfoundland  offers  much  that  is  inter- 
esting, unique  and  uncommon  to  its  visitors. 
The  customs  and  beliefs  of  the  early  settlers 
are  followed  religiously,  even  to  minute  de- 
tails, at  the  present  day. 

Stern  and  rugged  natural  backgrounds 
make  the  picture,  in  its  entirety,  one  of  se- 
verity rather  than  fascinating  beauty.  Giant 
rocks  frown  down  upon  seething,  foaming 
masses  of  spray  crashed  by  the  billows  of  an 
angry  sea  against  their  solid  foundations. 

The  coast  is  black  and  bare;  stunted  tree 
growth  dots  the  landscape  that  cries  aloud 
in  its  barren  loneliness.  Winds  that  shriek; 
storms  that  terrify;  dense  fogs  that  veil 
deeply  are  but  appropriate  framings.  Huge 
cliffs  and  immense  sandbanks  add  a  martial 
aspect  and  tone.  If  on  this  very  soil  the  War 
God  had  once  builded  his  castle,  it  would  not 
have  been  out  of  keeping. 

That  its  people  who  pass  their  existence  on 
this  island  have  become  reserved  and  silent 
may  depend  much  upon  the  unseen  influences 
—always  surrounding,  always  dominating 

95 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

— from  the  cradle  to  the  grave.  Tragedies 
of  a  capricious  ocean  o'ershadow  all  else. 
The  goddess  of  Mirth  ne'er  tarried  here. 

This  dreadful  monotony  is  only  relieved  by 
the  picturesque  harbors.  Among  and  on  the 
sides  of  the  broadened  stone  formations  that 
guard  the  entrances  to  these  restful  monads  of 
a  vast  wilderness,  queer  fishing  shacks  are  ob- 
served, scattered  here  and  there  or  often  safe 
and  secure,  several  are  huddled  together  in  a 
protected  corner.  Resplendent  in  coloring, 
high  built  dories  are  anchored  in  quiet  waters 
or  pulled  well  up  on  the  sands.  Drying  on 
Ferris-like  wooden  wheels,  huge  fishing  nets 
add  both  a  pleasing  and  ornamental  effect. 
Beyond  the  sandy  beaches  glimpses  reveal 
the  well-kept  homes  of  the  fisher  folk. 

All  hamlets  are  built  alike  and  look  alike. 
Each  domicile  has  a  tiny  garden  of  its  own. 
Each  garden  is  surrounded  by  a  fence.  These 
fences  charm  and  fascinate.  They  excel  the 
stockades  of  the  days  when  Indian  warfare 
existed,  in  their  strength  and  general  appear- 
ance. 

Such  gates — Ye  GODS — such  gates !  Mas- 
sive; stupendous;  solid.  Absolutely  barring  an 
entrance  to  the  agricultural  delights  within. 
No  earthly  power  can  destroy  them.  Per- 


SURPRISES 

haps  they  might  serve  a  better  purpose  if 
they  became  a  part  of  the  armament  em- 
ployed by  safe  deposit  vaults.  The  reason 
why  such  fences  and  why  such  gates  exist 
no  one  knows;  gentle-eyed  kine  are  the  only 
wild  beasts  about,  but  'tis  so  because  'tis  so, 
and  this  is  the  only  perfectly  clear  explana- 
tion. 

The  people  of  Newfoundland  are  thrifty, 
taciturn  and  modest.  Their  simple  homes 
are  kept  immaculate. 

Surprise  No.  i  arises,  de  novo,  from  the  bil- 
lows themselves.  Seated  in  one  of  the  dories, 
bobbing  up  and  down  on  the  waters,  the 
smallest  flies,  cast  on  curling  crests,  are 
seized  by — you  will  not  believe  it — seized 
voraciously  by  trout;  real,  honest,  true  brook 
trout.  Hundreds  of  them,  too.  Each  one 
quick  as  a  flash  of  lightning  and  agile  as  a 
hawk. 

Each  year  they  follow  the  salmon  up  the 
rivers  during  the  spawning  season.  Like  a 
real  Lothario  they  flirt  with  the  tides  and 
linger  until  the  silver  sheen  bestowed  by 
the  ocean  is  lost  and  the  many  hued  spots 
return. 

Surprise  No.  2 — the  color  of  their  flesh  is 
blood-red;  not  pink  or  reddish,  but  an  abso- 

97 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

lute  blood-red.  Their  sojourn  in  the  sea  has 
endowed  them  with  extra  agility  and  keener 
attributes.  A  much  more  delicious  flavor 
to  the  flesh  has  come  from  the  change  in 
foods. 

Crab  River,  about  twelve  miles  in  length, 
empties  into  the  ocean,  where  the  water  is 
swift  and  deep,  through  a  narrowed  gap.  The 
three  principal  pools  are  the  Red,  the  White 
and  the  Gray.  Peculiar  colorings  of  the  clays 
are  marked  distinctly,  and  the  names  be- 
stowed on  the  cliffs  depend  upon  the  most 
pronounced  hue  of  the  soil  out  of  which  they 
are  constructed. 

At  the  base  of  these  high  cliffs  the  river 
forms  basins  or  pools  of  goodly  size  and  bear 
the  same  cognomens.  Lesser  pools  and  ex- 
cellent fishing  places  are  scattered  about 
along  the  stream.  The  tree  growth  in  this 
section  is  much  more  luxuriant,  being  well 
protected. 

On  a  morning  after  the  rainfall  of  only  a 
few  hours,  surprise  No.  3  awaits.  Where 
but  yesterday  a  placid  stream  flowed 
smoothly  on,  a  fierce  torrent  booms  its  power. 
It  is  impossible  to  fish  at  all  in  the  large  pools, 
owing  to  the  increased  amount  of  water. 
The  small  pools  are  not  visible.  Where  one 


SURPRISES 

had  walked  along  the  banks  the  overflow  had 
become  knee  deep. 

The  length  is  stated  as  being  twelve  miles. 
Double  surprises,  Nos.  4  and  5.  The  truth 
has  been  hidden  and  deeply  hidden;  it  is 
nearer  twelve  hundred  miles  and  long  ones  at 
that.  You  expected  to  see  strips  of  sandy 
shore  at  least.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  You 
walk  on,  walk  over,  fall  down  upon,  hit,  scrape, 
and  curse — the  most  marvelous  collection  in 
the  universe  of — pebbles,  stones,  rocks,  boul- 
ders, and  Giant  Causeways  to  be  entangled 
with  on  terra  firma. 

The  fishing  for  salmon  and  the  big  "salt- 
ers"  is  simply  glorious  sport  and  well  repays 
for  all  annoyances,  labor  and  hardships.  As 
the  waters  are  wonderfully  clear,  small  flies 
should  be  used. 

One  morning,  equipped  with  an  ordinary 
trout  rod  and  tackle,  the  Angler  wished  to 
ascertain  what  might  be  accomplished  by 
using  a  No.  12  fly.  A  location  was  chosen 
where  fair  sized  trout  had  often  been  taken, 
simply  a  good  trout  ground  and  not  a  pool 
or  anything  approaching  one.  Surprise  No. 
6  hovered  in  the  air.  When  a  cast  was  made 
a  goodly  salmon  flashed  in  beauty  in  his  up- 
ward leap,  then  speeded  up  stream.  That 

99 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

rider  of  the  rapids  sprang  skyward  seven 
times.  Twice  he  left  but  an  inch  or  two  on 
the  line  after  rapid  runs.  This  intense  but 
enjoyable  suspense  lasted  in  reality  just  forty- 
eight  minutes.  To  the  Angler  it  seemed 
hours.  Both  the  victor  and  the  vanquished 
fighter  were  completely  tired  out  when  the 
contest  ended. 

Other  surprises  awaited.  The  Angler  sur- 
prised the  silent  6^4  feet  tall  child  of  the  sea 
when  with  stick  and  string,  as  Albert  desig- 
nated his  tackle,  he  caught  fifty-seven  fine 
cod  fish. 

The  conductor  of  the  narrow-gauge  rail- 
way train  surprised  all  of  them.  The  train 
was  only  three  hours  late.  Doffing  his  cap 
he  approached  and  apologized  for  being  so 
tardy,  then  invited  them  to  the  dining  car 
and  had  the  steward  serve  delicious  sand- 
wiches and  Bass's  ale.  A  table  was  ar- 
ranged for  card  playing;  then  he  said,  "You 
chaps  want  to  smoke,  I  know,  so  go  ahead,  for 
no  one  will  disturb  you." 

The  Inspector  asked  if  the  trip  had  been  a 
pleasant  one  while  he  chalked  the  luggage 
without  requesting  to  have  it  opened.  He 
handed  $15.00  to  the  Angler,  this  being  the 
amount  of  a  deposit  for  the  rods  when  start- 

100 


SURPRISES 

ing  for  Crab's  River.  At  the  time  he  asked 
the  Angler  if  he  thought  his  tackle  was 
worth  as  much  as  that.  There  being  three 
salmon  rods,  four  fly  rods,  two  trolling  rods, 
one  tarpon  rod,  reels,  flies,  lines  and  a  lot 
more  stuff,  the  Angler  replied  "yes." 

Last  surprise  of  all.  The  good  and  kind 
Inspector  had  a  package  that  he  asked  the 
Angler  to  accept  with  his  compliments,  say- 
ing, "It  will  prevent  sea-sickness  and  do  you 
lots  of  good/'  And  it  did. 

May  you  all  be  able  to  visit  Newfoundland! 


101 


An  Indian  Legend 

The  Humble  Angler  passed  his  vacation 
days  for  many  years  at  Grand  Lake,  Maine. 
A  pleasant  friendship  followed  between  the 
Indian  guide  and  himself.  Sabattis  grew 
more  communicative,  and  when  in  the 
proper  mood  and  atmosphere  told  him  sto- 
ries and  legends  of  his  people.  The  following 
narrative  is  selected  out  of  a  goodly  number, 
as  its  setting  is  familiar  to  many  sportsmen. 

Night's  mantle  had  begun  to  fall  o'er  the 
quivering  waters  of  Grand  Lake.  A  glorious 
day  had  bestowed  more  than  an  excellent 
creel;  and  belated  on  this  account,  it  had 
grown  quite  dark  before  they  embarked  in 
the  birch  bark  canoe,  homeward  bound.  The 
stars  began  to  gleam.  The  restless  cries  of 
loons,  the  hoot  of  owls,  the  gentle  rippling 
of  waters,  and  the  soft  swish  of  blade  were 
woven  into  one  of  Nature's  lullabies. 

Save  in  outline,  Sabattis  could  hardly  be 
discerned.  The  magnetic  influences  of  the 
hour  welded  themselves  into  a  swinging 
song  expressed  in  spoken  words,  soft  and  low, 
that  kept  the  paddle's  cadence. 
102 


AN  INDIAN  LEGEND 

"Wus  long  time  'go  my  grand-dad's  dad 
he  tell  my  granddad,  my  granddad  he  tell  my 
old  dad,  an '  he  tell  me,  an '  my  dad  he  heap 
old  man  when  he  tell. 

"Way  down  dis  big,  big  lake  dere's  little 
island.  She  much  more  big  long  time  'go 
dan  she  am  now.  Good  Indian  he  lived  dere 
in  wig-warn,  had  squaw  an'  three  papoose. 
He  great  hunter.  He  beaver  know.  He  trap 
lot,  big  beaver  king. 

"Some  day  he  no  hunt.  Stay  home,  make 
garden,  plant  much.  Keepa  cow,  keepa  hoss, 
keepa  pig.  One  day  he  work  way  off  in  field. 
Squaw  she  'tend  papoose  in  wig-warn.  Down 
lake  cum  floatin'  big  tree,  much  branch, 
much  leaf,  on  him. 

"He  float  slow.  He  cuma  nearer  an'  nearer 
where  landin'  was.  You  look  at  tree — you 
see  nuthin'.  Your  eye  he  wrong.  You  look 
sharp — you  see.  Leaves  dey  cover  up  pretty 
good.  More  half  dozen  bad  Indians  dere. 
All  painted.  War  paint.  On  war  path, 
'udder  tribe  'nudder  men,  bad  men,  steal, 
kill,  no  good.  No  see  'tall,  keep  still. 

"All  time  keep  pushin',  push  big  tree  make 
him  go  island.  Keep  still  all  time.  Den  big 
tree  he  cum  'shore.  He  stay  dere — bad  In- 
dian he  make  no  noise,  just  wait.  All  sudden 
103 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

give  war  whoop  run  up  wig-warn  kill  squaw, 
kill  papoose,  set  fire  all  'round  fore  Beaver 
King  cum,  den  when  he  run  down,  ketch 
quick. 

"Too  much  him  fight,  he  no  tomahawk, 
no  knife,  no  nuttin'.  Tie  him  up,  tie  him 
tight,  take  'way,  wait  on  shore.  Great  big 
canoe  she  cum  'cross  lake,  den  all  get  in. 
Throw  Beaver  King  in  too.  Paddle  like 
Hell,  run  way  'fore  good  braves  see.  Nudder 
tribe  all  bad  men  live  way  off. 

"Sometime  cum  down  lake  steal  much, 
much  kill,  much  burn,  much  scalp  get.  Some- 
time good  brave  he  ketch  him,  den  big  fight. 
Good  brave  he  better  fight  dan  bad  brave. 
Bad  brave  he  no  get  home  a'tall.  All  dead, 
no  matter  wait,  wait  long  time  cum  some 
more.  Dis  time  bad  brave  no  ketched,  take 
Beaver  King  way  off  in  woods. 

"Den  snow  he  cum  an'  cold  he  freeze  up 
water  all  round  an'  big  hungry  he  cum  too. 
Game  he  gone.  Well  by  an'  by  get  to  own 
camp.  Udder  braves  no  home  all  gone  hunt. 
Nuthin'  left  to  eat.  Big  Chief  stay  in  wig- 
wam, he  old,  old  man.  Squaw,  she  left; 
papoose,  he  left;  no  dog  left,  dog  he  all  eat 
up  long  time. 

"Big  Chief  glad  see  Beaver  King,  get  heap 
104 


AN  INDIAN  LEGEND 

glad — Big  Chief  he  say  show  beaver  kill,  me 
no  kill  you,  me  make  big  man  in  tribe  an' 
me  have  you  live  here  all  time — Beaver  King 
he  say  he  do  but  he  no  tell  all  he  tink — not 
much. 

"Beaver  King  told  Big  Chief  he  no  do 
'cept  he  free,  den  he  go  hunt.  He  no  forget 
he  wait,  he  watch  much.  Next  day  he  ask 
chief  give  sharp  tomahawk  den  go  beaver 
kill,  much  he  say  he  kill.  All  braves  he  want 
go  too,  for  much  food  get  right  way. 

"Big  Chief  he  tink  all  right  now,  so  tell 
go.  Beaver  King  he  go  an'  all  udder  braves 
go  too.  Find  big  big  river.  He  froze  hard, 
he  froze  thick  too. 

"Beaver  King  he  cut  big  hole  great  big 
hole  in  ice.  He  tell  one  brave  stay  here 
watch  out  he  beaver  call,  den  put  head  way 
down  hole  an '  listen  long  time.  When  hear 
beaver  come,  wait  'ill  he  stick  head  way  out 
den  kill. 

"Beaver  King  take  nudder  brave  do  same 
ting.  No  one  see  udder  one — too  far  'way. 
When  braves  all  fixed  up,  Beaver  King  he  go 
see  first  man,  den  he  puts  head  in  hole — make 
funny  noise — call  beaver.  Den  say  listen 
an '  hear  beaver  come.  Man  he  puts  head  in 
hole. 

105 


REMINISCENT  TALES 

"Beaver  King,  he  strike  hard  he  strike 
quick.  He  kill,  he  scalp  quick,  den  go  next 
man  do  same  ting.  By  an'  by  bad  braves  all 
dead.  Beaver  King  he  tie  up  scalps,  kill  two 
fat  beaver,  den  put  beaver  on  back  go  back 
see  chief. 

"Give  Chief  beaver  tell  all  braves  cum  soon 
now,  plenty  beaver.  Big  Chief  he  glad,  tell 
squaws  cook  right  'way.  Tell  Beaver  King 
he  great  hunter — give  present  he  go  get  in 
wig-warn.  Beaver  King  he  go  too,  hit  chief 
in  head,  tie  up  to  tree,  tie  much  tight,  den 
make  fire,  damn  hot  fire. 

"Big  Chief  he  wake  up,  he  no  move,  too 
hard  he  tied  up.  Beaver  King  he  take  toma- 
hawk cut  arm  off  say  dat's  for  squaw,  den 
he  cut  off  udder  arm — dat's  for  papoose. 
Beaver  King  he  make  fire  hotter,  watch  Big 
Chief  all  burn  up  say  all  right  now.  Squaws 
yell  like  devil  run  way  no  one  cum  no  more. 

"Beaver  King  he  make  bundle  tie  up  scalps 
put  on  back,  go  get  food  he  want,  den 
go  way  all  'lone  over  big  old  mountin's. 

"When  good  braves  found  wig-warn  all 
burnt  up  an'  squaw  an'  papoose  all  dead  an' 
Beaver  King  he  no  dere  no  more  make  big 
noise  an'  big  big  mourn. 

"Old,  old  woman,  she  mighty  old,  more  old 
106 


AN  INDIAN  LEGEND 

hundred  years,  she  no  give  up  'tall,  she  wait, 
she  look,  she  listen  all  time.  One  day  she 
tell  people  Beaver  King  he  cum  she  hear  foot- 
steps way  way  off.  People  laff,  shake  heads 
much,  but  old  woman  she  right,  she  know  all 
right. 

"Beaver  King  he  cum.  He  sick  man  too. 
He  tell  people  'bout  tings,  show  big  lot  scalps, 
den  he  near  die. 

"Old  woman  she  know  lot,  she  make  well 
pretty  quick — she  was  great  old  gal,  dat  old 
woman. 

"Good  Chief  he  awful  old  too,  he  get  sick 
he  die,  he  live  too  much  long,  den  all  tribe 
have  heap  big  war  dance.  Make  Beaver 
King  great  Chief.  He  mighty  good  chief  too, 
make  safe  all  time,  make  dis  tribe — my  tribe 
— great  strong  people.  Never  no  more  bad 
tribe  cum  'cross  Grand  Lake. 

"My  dad  he  Chief  now,  he  old  man  too. 
When  he  die — me — Sabattis — be  Big  Chief. 
Tomorrow  show  place  where  Beaver  King  he 
live.  Most  gone  now,  nudder  year  all  gone." 

The  landing  was  made.  Sabattis  carried 
the  kill  of  the  day  to  the  cabin  and  disap- 
peared into  the  darkness. 


107 


The  Close  of  Day — Lake  Katahdin 

The  shadows  now  are  purpling 

The  crest  of  distant  hills; 
The  Crimson  God  is  wearied, 

But  Evening's  quiet  thrills. 

The  Loons  begin  their  calling; 

The  Owl  his  challenge  sends; 
The  Deer  in  coves  are  feeding, 

Where  the  long  lake-shore  bends. 

Upon  its  burnished  surface, 
The  tall  pines  seem  to  glow, 

As  on  that  limpid  mirror, 
Their  outlines  ebb  and  flow. 

Birches  and  brush  reflecting, 

A  shore  seems  not  to  be, 
And  fiery  clouds,  mirage-like, 

Change  hues  while  yet  they  flee. 

A  serenade  is  warbled 

By  tiny  songster  true; 
And  at  a  touch  of  twilight, 

Dense  grows  the  vein  of  blue. 
108 


THE  CLOSE  OF  DAY 

Upon  the  mountain  summit, 
There  lingers  yet  a  flame — 

The  kiss  of  sunset's  parting — 
How  soft  from  Heaven,  came! 


109 


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YB  '1 0521' 


